


Broken Hunters and Fallen Angels

by TheSilverViolin



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supernatural/Good Omens, Two diffrent Crowleys, mentions of torture, supernatural season 9
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverViolin/pseuds/TheSilverViolin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was all really just a coincidence. Aziraphale hadn't realized the man he was saving was another fallen angel. And how were Sam and Dean supposed to know that when they invited Aziraphale back to the bunker that he would have past affiliations with the new demon they summoned in their dungeon? In the grand scheme of things, it was all just a large set of coincidences leading up to the moments when they together would save everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleeping on the Sidewalk

**Author's Note:**

> So here I go, first story posted here. It's going to be a lot of chapters I can tell you now and I most likely wont have a set in stone update time. As new chapters are posted, certain warnings will be added in the notes for the specific chapters and tags will be put on as I go. It starts off at the beginning of season 9, so you've been warned if you're not caught up yet. Okay, now let's see if I can get through this entire story without screwing something up . . .

Cold. That's all that Castiel could think of as he shuddered pitifully. The cold from the biting wind that made it's way through his sweatshirt. The cold from the rain pelting his dirtied face no mater how much he shielded himself against the alley wall. The worse had to be the hollow cold feeling that filled the space where the warmth of heaven used to occupy. That warmth had abandoned him as he fell and his wings were unceremoniously ripped from his body. Another shudder racked Castiel's huddled figure, this time not from the freezing gusts of wind, but the memory of plummeting through the darkened sky with the ground drawing closer and closer until . . .

“Um, pardon me?” An unknown voice with an accent he just couldn't place called out. Cas raised his head from it's position on his knees as he was drawn out of his darkened memories. “ Yes, I was wondering if I could possibly join you?” With the voice drawing closer the fallen angel could clearly tell the accent was British. Besides this small observation, Castiel couldn’t make out anything else about the man through the rain. Realizing that the stranger was still waiting for permission to accompany the raggedy ex-angel in the alleyway, Cas nodded. It wasn't like he could of stopped the man anyways. At that moment, Castiel felt he was too weak to stop anything. 

Seeming pleased, the british man flashed Cas a warm smile and sat down against the wall next to him. “ Oh thank you, really. Turns out there aren't too many places one can take shelter here.” The stranger explained as he readjusted his sweater. “I mean, I did try under the bridge just now, but the fellows already under it apparently don't like sharing, nasty business really . . .” The man trailed off, sounding like a child who'd done something they weren’t supposed to. Castiel had already had a run in with the men under the bridge, his right eye was still swollen shut and he doubted his arm would be able to move any time soon. 

Concerned for the strangers well being after facing off with the territorial men, Castiel's eyes swept over his body, seeking out any bruises or possibly broken bones, but there were none. Besides being generally dirty and wet, the man did not appear to have any injury, which in all honesty, surprised Castiel. From looking at the stranger, with his torn tartan sweater vest which covered his midsection that was on the slightly chubbier side, one would more likely see the man in a library, not on the streets, and certainly not fending off the men under the bridge.

Cas would have continued his analysis of the mysterious british man but he quickly realized that he was being spoken to. “ I'm sorry, I never did get your name?” The man asked with his ever so polite accent. Castiel paused, it was a simple enough question, what was his name? It seemed like he could trust the stranger, but some little voice in the back of Cas' head reminded him sinisterly what happened the last time he put his trust in another . . . The screams of his brothers and sisters as they dropped out of heaven like apples from a tree, hitting the earth that they had watched from above since time began . . . 

“ Oh I'm terribly sorry, that's a very personal question, isn't it?” The man apologized as he scooted farther away with his hands up as if trying not frighten him. “I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable . . .” Castiel tried to look up at the retreating figure, but found he felt disoriented all of the sudden, and why was he breathing so hard? He wondered blankly if that his own heart drowning out all other noise with it's relentless pounding? Cas felt like he couldn't move, the images of the fall stealing the movement from his limbs. For a while, the panicked man just sat in the alleyway, continuously staring at a piece of graffiti opposite him as he banished that terribly feeling of falling from his mind. Castiel did not understand why his body was reacting in such a way. He was fine. Everything was fine, he repeated like a mantra, knowing that this thought in itself was a lie. Out of the corner of his eye, Cas could still see the man sitting a fair ways away while fingering the frayed ends of his scarf, clearly uncomfortable. Castiel wondered if he could trust him. So far, the man had shown no inclination that an ulterior motive was involved. However, his experience with the stranger spanned a time of less than a minute. On the other hand, he seemed like a genuinely friendly person. So the fallen angel, hurt so many times before decided he would put his last inklings of trust in this man.

“ Cas.” He muttered hoarsely in the general direction of the stranger.

This made the man look up from his garish scarf to Castiel, “I didn’t quite catch that?”

“ Cas. My . . . My name is Cas Winchester.” His own answer surprised Castiel. The plan was just to say his name was Cas, just Cas. Winchester was not apart of the equation. But he found himself actual liking the sound of it, Castiel Winchester, yes that did sound nice. Cas was just glad that Dean was not around to hear him claim the Winchester's surname as his own. He suspected he would be teased.

“ Ah well, pleasure to meet you Cas Winchester.” The man returned, his welcoming smile once again reappearing on his face. “ My name is Zira Fell.” 

Despite all the reasons Cas had not to smile at that moment, Cas managed a small grin back. “ It is nice to meet you too.” The two men sat in a companionable silence, the only sounds were the passing cars splashing through the puddles congregating on the side of the road. 

Only a few minutes had passed until Castiel noticed that to his left, Zira was rummaging through his pockets, intent on finding something. Finally with a slight yell of triumph, he pulled out a granola bar from his back pocket. “Here,” He insisted, holding out the smashed snack to Castiel. “Take it. Someone gave it to me, but it look's like you need it more.” 

Castiel did not want to take the bar, he honestly didn't. For another to go hungry just to fill his own stomach would make Castiel feel like even more of a burden to the world than he already was. Unfortunately, that nagging voice inside his head, which he really needed to do something about, reminded him of his last meal, if it could even be considered such. Two measly scraps of potato, a limp stalk of celery with leaves the color akin to that of the murky puddle beside him, and . . . and that was it. That was all Cas had eaten since yesterday. The pain in his stomach seemed to intensify with this reminder. 

Hesitantly, the starving fallen angel reached out and took the snack. Thinking back on it, Castiel wondered if time had sped up when his fingers touched the wrapper. For he remembered taking the food from Zira's hands, ripping off the plastic packaging, and after that, his own hands were empty, the bar nowhere to be seen. The only evidence that Castiel had eaten it at all was the crumpled wrapper in his fist and the lingering taste of granola on his tongue. Even though the pain was still there; his stomach still growling insistently for more food, he felt better after filling his stomach with something.

“ So . . .” Zira started, scooting closer to Castiel now that the remnants of the barrier present before was toppled down with the peace offering of food. “ Do you happen to have anywhere you could go? Anyone you could stay with? I mean, you certainly don't want to be stuck out here, now do you?”

This time, the internal struggle for Castiel to reveal information about himself was more of a small skirmish rather than a full out war. “ Yes, actually there is. It is just that, I cannot contact them at the current moment to ask for help. Otherwise, I would be staying with them.” With him more importantly, Cas thought but did not say.

Zira pondered for a moment. “Well if you are in need of money for a payphone, I would be more than pleased to give you some.” Zira stated with upmost sincerity. 

Castiel was not proud to admit that his first thought after this generous offer was, he's lying. Cas had tried asking for money before. One day, as the well dressed men and woman walked past with their brief cases and steaming cups of coffee in well manicured hands, he had asked for spare change. Mimicking what Castiel had seen others doing as they sat on the streets. One brutish man in particular had spat at the feet of the fallen angel and a woman whose lips reminded him all to well of spilt blood told him to get a job with a snobbish head shake. Those people who refused to give the few coins in their pockets had jobs, had a paycheck, had a plate of roasted chicken with green beans on the side waiting for them at their homes. Yet all they offered was cruelty. But Zira had nothing. He was in the same sinking ship as Castiel, and still he offered up the few possessions he had to make someone else comfortable at his own expense. Where was the sense in that?

But through all of this, Cas could not refuse the offer of money. To decline could mean several more weeks until he was reunited with Dean and Sam, and that was something Cas could just not afford to do. So he nodded his head and gratefully accepted the coins, continuously thanking Zira for his generosity. Zira in turn, just smiled. Coins in hand, Castiel began to stand, already searching his mind for the last payphone he saw. He could of sworn one was around the corner next to the gas station, or was the last town. They all looked the same. But his venture out of the alleyway did not prove to be a long one, for as soon Castiel stood up to full height, he sank back down again. His legs feeling numb. 

“ Oh dear . . .” Zira clucked thoughtfully, now standing next to Castiel's crumpled form. “ Why don't you just take a rest for a minute? Hopefully it's just a case pins and needles . . .” Ignoring the bizarre reference to sewing equipment, it was probably a british metaphor anyways, Castiel realized that it wasn't just his legs that were keeping his tied to the ground. Black dots had clouded his vision and his arm, which he had been able to ignore for most of the day, was now sending hot flashes of pain up his body. All of these factors combined made the numbing effects of sleep seem more appealing than ever before to the fallen angel. But the pain didn’t matter, the exhaustion, the cold, none of it really mattered. What mattered was that Castiel finally had a chance to call Dean. Not only was getting home important, but making sure Sam was okay as well. Cas' last phone call had left him with the information that the youngest Winchester was grievously injured and in a hospital and that one of Castiel's brothers, Ezekiel, was there to help. That was all he knew from his phone call over a week ago. For all Castiel knew Sam could have died and as for Dean . . . Well, Castiel knew from experience that if one Winchester died, the other was never far behind.

Shoving himself up, Castiel stumbled toward the alley exit, each new sensation of pain making him feel nauseated. A hand reached out and grabbed Castiel's good arm with a grip to tight to shake off. 

“ Please, Mr. Winchester, sit down. You are in no condition to be walking at this point.”

“ No, I . . . I am fine.” Another lie. “ It is essential that I contact my friends. They might be injured and I have to make sure-”

Zira interrupted, this time placing a hand on Castiel's shoulder. “ While I admire your concern for your friends, you really should be concerned about yourself.” Cas started to shake his head, but his new friend was determined. “ I really do insist you get some rest. When was the last time you slept?” Castiel did not answer. Apparently Cas' silence on the matter was an answer in itself, for he was soon being led farther back into the alley. Castiel wanted to protest. He used be a fearsome warrior of Heaven. He himself had led the siege into Hell to rescue the Righteous Man. After being an celestial entity since before the concept of time was even constructed, he believed that the journey to a payphone would not be his most difficult task. But to Zira, he was just a man. A man who, whether he liked it or not, was going to sit down and sleep. 

“ There now isn't that better?” Zira smiled down at Castiel, who was now curled up appreciatively out of the rain, Zira's scarf wrapped around his neck. Cas had to admit, now that his body was slowly warming up, he did feel better and sleep seemed more tantalizing than ever. But despite the fact that for the first time since he fell Cas felt safe, there was still one matter that seemed to engulf his being and make him feel like the world was once again a vast space where he could not see another life; Something that made him feel alone. Dean and Sam, they could both be dead, killed by angels and Castiel would not know. It felt like his mind was just repeating things he was already aware of, but again the blaring urgency in which his conscience was telling him to call them was overwhelming. As if Zira could sense the source of his unofficial charge's pain, he took a step toward him and kneeled, his face showing nothing but kindness.

“ You still want to call your friends, correct?” Cas nodded. “ Well, since I am adamant about you getting some rest and I believe forcing you to wait any longer to contact your friends would be impossible, would you be opposed to me calling them? If you give me their cell number, I could call them for you, tell your friends where you are, make sure they are alright as well.” 

Cas contemplated this proposal for a second. Five minutes prior he was almost too terrified to give Zira his name and now he was asked to reveal Dean's phone number. But Zira was right, Cas would not be able to rest easy until Dean and Sam were contacted and sleep was something he desperately needed. Also for an unknown reason, Castiel truly did trust the stranger he just met. With all of these things, Cas could not help but agree. He told Mr. Fell the number, who to ask for when the call went through and gave him back the change he had given to him. 

As Zira walked away, talking cheerfully about how soon Cas would be back home with his friends, Castiel could not help but ask the other man one personal question.

“ Do you have any home to go to, Mr. Fell?” The face that met this question was sad in Castiel's eyes, ignoring the fact that Cas' own face probably evoked pity in others as well. It was the face of someone who had not given the question a single thought, as if his own wellbeing was more of an afterthought to be tossed aside rather than a main concern. But the dim expression that had flashed over his face was soon gone, replaced with small smile.

“ No, no I do not. But that's not something you should worry about my dear boy.” Cas raised an eyebrow at this. Disregarding that Castiel was older than the stars themselves, the other man could not be more than a few years older than his vessel, hardly a boy in comparison. Nevertheless, Zira continued. “ I mean, I did have a home, nice little cottage in South Downs, doubt you know of it. But I had to go away for a bit and well I didn't quite expect to end up in America of all places. At the time I was living with someone, but I suspect . . . Well that he might be dead now.” Zira's small smile was nearly non-existent by this point. “ But never mind me. You just focus on getting some sleep and I'll go and ring your friends.” 

With that, Mr. Fell gave a small wave and strode out of the alley. Castiel could no longer fight the battle to keep his eyes open and fell into his first truly deep sleep in days. The thought of the man with a cottage in South Downs, where ever that may be; Who had no concern for himself and only thought of others dancing behind Castiel's closed eyelids.


	2. It's A Hard Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale did not sign up for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally finished the second chapter! If your wondering why it took so long, it was because first, I had finals, so I didn't get much time to work on this chapter, and second, about half-way through the chapter, I realized I did not want to make Crowley from Good Omens and Crowley from Supernatural the same person. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't find a single way to justify the complete and utter personality change from the two characters. So if you were looking forward to that, I apologize now, but hopefully you still like the story.

Aziraphale liked helping people. It was in his job description after all, well former job description, but once you've been doing something for thousands of years, it becomes somewhat of a hard habit to break, like smoking. It was simple, he was to help humankind in the hopes that they in return would help others. Unfortunately, in Zira's endeavor to lend a hand to those in need, he had overlooked something. In short, Aziraphale, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate and former employee of Heaven, had made a mistake. He was rather embarrassed by it and berated himself for not seeing his error earlier. To put it bluntly, all of his coins were british and none of the american payphones accepted them.

This realization had come after a stressful five minutes of trying desperately to make the machine accept his twenty pence piece. Passive aggressively demanding the telephone work hadn't helped and all of his attempts to coerce the machine into accepting the foreign money had only achieved odd glances from those who passed by. 

In a normal circumstance, Zira could have simply willed the coins to be the correct form of currency, but this was not a normal circumstance. Ever since the fall he was weak. It had taken a lot of his energy to simply conjure up that granola bar, and even then he had meant for it to be a sandwich.

Aziraphale hadn't fallen in the sense that his brothers and sisters had. He had been fortunate enough to have just gotten to earth when it happened. Aziraphale watched as the angels fell. He had desperately wanted to do something, but his wings were useless. Even then, two weeks after the fall, his wings refused to work.

He supposed he could locate another angel and ask if they knew what had happened, but truthfully, he didn't want to find any of his brothers and sisters. The last time he had seen an angel was when he had been strapped down and taught through various uses of sharp objects and electricity what happens when you disobey the divine plan.

According to his torturers, or as they called themselves, his 're-educators', he had become quite infamous in Heaven. Apparently, teaming up with a demon to stop the apocalypse and then teaming up with that same demon to buy a cottage in South Downs and sleep in with on Sunday mornings, gets one off of Heaven's good books. It does however, get you on their torture racks. An item that Aziraphale did not even know Heaven even owned until twenty years ago. At least, he believed it was twenty years . Time worked on a vastly different scale in Heaven than down below on earth and being cut open and stabbed repeatedly didn't really help with Aziraphale's time keeping skills.

The slight jingle of coins clanking against one another reminded him of the task at hand, exchanging his all but useless twenty-pence pieces into quarters or something of the like. He really hoped the exchange rate wasn't totally skewed in this decade. 

Finally putting his own thoughts and troubles aside, Aziraphale walked up to a small corner shop. It wasn't exactly the most reputable place he'd been to, but at the same time, it was nothing compared to some other places he had been. After all, Zira had been around when England had yet to discover the wonders of soap or health inspections, but looking through the murky glass panes, it seemed to him that this shop had also forgotten about the two. 

A small florescent sign advertised that the store was open, but it seemed as if the dimming lights couldn’t make up their minds on whether they should say OPEN or just PN. Despite the finicky lighting system and seedy atmosphere, the fallen Angel wandered in. The shop was no better on the inside. The young man at the counter had glanced up rather lethargically when the bell above the door announced Aziraphale's presence, making no attempt to seem welcoming. The carpet was a horrible shade of brown, which Aziraphale could not tell if it was that color to cover up stains or if stains had been the cause of the coloration in the first place. The smell was a nauseous mixture of various spoiled meats and an overuse of pine air fresheners, which did the absolute opposite of freshening the air. Aziraphale also made a point to look away with a faint blush from the rows of magazines blatantly advertizing men and woman in very lewd and compromising positions.

Aziraphale had the sudden thought that maybe the shop owner didn't want people coming in and purposefully made their shop as repulsive as possible. Employing the same tactics Aziraphale himself had used to keep unwanted customers at bay from his books. He quickly tossed that thought aside though. According to Crowley, not many others went to such extreme lengths to keep customers from actually buying the merchandise. A fact that Crowley often teased Zira about whenever he had happened across the Angel shooing off another customer, all the while convincing them that yes, he always closed at 1:27 PM on Saturdays and no, it definitely said that on the sign when they came in, how could he have changed it since then? The teasing was usually mild though and almost always ended with a kiss . . . 

Aziraphale shook his head. This was no time to be reminiscing about ghosts. He had to accept that Crowley was dead, not discoperated, but dead. Although it was two decades ago, he still remembered very clearly when he had been dragged off to Heaven while Crowley had been taken in the opposite direction. Apparently the first thing Heaven and Hell had agreed on for the first time in thousands of years was that both of their agents on earth needed to be recalled. While Aziraphale's side decided that torture would suffice, he had been informed that Crowley's side went with the far more permanent solution of death. There were no second chances in Hell. 

Zira realized with a shock that he had been standing still inside the store for a good few minutes now. Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale could see the Cashier staring at him, probably wondering why someone had come into the shop only to just stand there.

Zira shook his head once more and tried giving a small wave, but the cashier promptly went back to flipping through a hunting magazine. A magazine which Aziraphale was almost positive was in truth hiding a pornographic novel.

Zira was growing steadily discouraged. 

Now determined to stop getting distracted from his task, Aziraphale marched over to the counter. “Yes, um, hello.” Zira started, making sure he wore a bright smile. “ Yes, I was wondering if you could exchange my twenty-pence pieces for quarters? It would be greatly appreciated.”

The young man, whose name tag read as being named Chris, set aside his magazines, turned down the small radio next to him and looked through his wispy strands of hair at Zira.  
“ Sure.” Chris replied lacking any emotion. Aziraphale deposited his twenty-pence pieces onto the counter and Chris scooped them up in his unusually large hands. There was a moment of silence as the cashier inspected the coins.

“Is this some kind of joke?!” Aziraphale looked up startled. Chris was holding out the coins, his face full of rage.

“Um, I afraid I don't understand . . .” Zira trailed off. Was this some kind of faux pas that he was unaware of? Maybe a new set of social rules had come into play in this decade and Aziraphale had just broken one. There had been several times in the past centuries where he had gone over to a country only to discover that a simple hand gesture was then considered rude. He did not want to make these same mistakes. “What's seems to be the matter?”

“Do you think I'm some kind of idiot?” Chris yelled, attracting the attention of a woman across the store. Before Aziraphale could answer that, no he didn't think he was an idiot but maybe just a tad too loud, Chris began yelling again. “I know these coins are fake!” 

“I'm sorry, but what?” Aziraphale asked, becoming more and more confused.

“These coins are fake!” Chris stated as if that cleared up any questions.

When Aziraphale did nothing but blankly stare back at the fuming employee, Chris let out a frustrated growl. “ Does this look like the president to you?” He waved the coin in front of Zira's face.

“ But they're . . . Thats . . .” Zira faltered. “ That's the Queen of England.”

This seemed to just make him angrier. “And why the hell would anyone but the Queen of goddamn England on an american coin?!” Aziraphale tried to reply but he was quickly cut off. “You better leave now before I call the cops, got it?”

At that point, Zira honestly thought that maybe this was all some prank. A prank where shopkeepers make fun of unsuspecting foreigners, and in just a second, it would be revealed that of course Chris knew that these weren’t american coins and they would all have a good laugh. Except that didn't happen, Chris continued to glare at him, his stare unwavering.

Aziraphale let out a small breath and tugged down his sweater. “Certainly. I'll be on my way then.” He said, his words laced with all the bitterness he dare not express otherwise. 

The fallen angel then collected his coins from the counter, all while the Cashier continued to stare him down, and strode out of the store. If he had been Crowley, striding out of the store would have also involved money disappearing from the register, a text sent to the cashier's girlfriend which would convince her that he was cheating on her and then finally, breaking the radio so that it only played 'Whats New Pussycat' by Tom Jones, all just to spite the rude human. But seeing as Aziraphale did not have enough time or energy to deal with the young cashier, he just left with a small, and obviously forced, thank you in time with the bell above the door.

Aziraphale pointedly ignored the cold as he trudged down the darkened street, all the while muttering something about being inhospitable to strangers and angels in disguise.

Zira let a small sigh escape his lips. He did not want to go back to Cas yet and admit that he hadn't done as he had promised. Zira supposed he could just go find another store and hope the employees there knew enough about foreign culture to exchange a couple of twenty pence pieces for quarters without needing to call the emergency services for assistance.

“Excuse me! Sir! Wait! ” A voice called out from behind him. 

Aziraphale stopped and spun around. Coming towards him was a vaguely familiar looking woman. She stopped right in front of of Zira and took a moment to catch her breath.

“Sorry, but you were the guy in the store just now, right?” She asked, looking up at him. “Trying to exchange your money?”

Aziraphale nodded, his face flushing a light red. “Ah yes, that was me.” He now realized where he recognized the woman from; She was the other shopper in the cornerstone.

“Look, I heard that guy yelling at you and first let me apologize, that was really rude of him to treat you like that. It was like he was trying to prove the American stereotype all in one go.” Aziraphale tried to cut in that she need not apologize seeing as it wasn't her fault, but she continued. “You wanted to exchange your coins for quarters right? Well . . .” She paused for a moment, fishing something out of her purse. “I'd be more than happy to exchange some quarters with you, if you're up for it.”

Looking down into her gloved hand, Aziraphale saw a handful of quarters. “I . . . Well . . . Thank you.” He finally got out, trying to express how truly grateful he was in so few words. “Honestly, thank you so much.”

The woman smiled. “It's no problem really.” She said as she dropped the coins into Zira's hand. “Just remember, we're all not like him.” With that she walked off, the proud owner off a couple of twenty-pence pieces.

Now that he had the proper currency, using the payphone was a far easier task and Aziraphale easily inserted the coins and quickly dialed the number given to him by Cas. The phone rang out and continued to ring. Zira had the sudden thought that maybe the man, Cas had told him his name would be Dean, wouldn't pick up. In the middle of this thought, a gruff voice sounded from the receiver. “Hello?” Aziraphale could automatically tell that, whether or not this was the man Cas had told him about, whoever he was, he was not pleased to have been called.

“Ah yes, do you happen to be Dean?” The fallen Angel asked, uncommonly nervous.

A frustrated growl could be heard on the other end. “Look, I don't know how you got this number, but if you guys keep calling us about buying wall insulation, I-”

Aziraphale sputtered. “What- . . . Wall insulation?” Well that certainly wasn't what he was expecting. “ No, no, I'm not a telemarketer, my goodness no. I'm calling about a young man named Cas . . .”

“Cas?” Even over the phone, Zira could here Dean's breath hitch and his tone grow soft. “Wait, where is he?! Did you do something to him?! Because I swear-” And there went the soft tone of voice in favor of something a bit more brutal. 

“Dean, are you harassing the telemarketers again?” Another voice broke in the background. “ Look, they're just doing their jobs-”

“Sam, shut up, he knows where Cas is!” An angry whisper, that was as close to a whisper as Aziraphale was a magician, replied. 

This time the other voice answered in disbelief. “The telemarketer?” 

While all of this had been going on, Aziraphale had been fidgeting with the phone cord all the while trying to break into the conversation on the other side using his arsenal of, “Excuse me?” and “Pardon me?” but no no avail. Zira realized he had no idea how long he was going to be able to speak before he was required to insert more quarters. He was running out of time.

“Yes, excuse me. If you both would just settle down and allow me to speak, I will explain what is going on.” He announced loudly into the phone. This was met with silence. “Good, well, firstly, I have not hurt Cas, nor do I have the intention to do so. I merely found him and offered my assistance. He would have called you himself, but he is currently sleeping. He wanted me to tell you where he is, as he would very much like to return home. So you see, I am most certainly not a telemarketer.”

The sound of of a soft “oh” echoed through the phone. Aziraphale smiled, pleased with himself. “Yes, well now that we've got that cleared up, shall I give you the address now?” 

Throughout the conversation, Aziraphale discovered that the other man, Sam, was actually quite a nice fellow. Dean however, kept threatening him that, “ If he discovered that Zira had hurt Cas, he would personally hunt him down . . .” After that Dean had listed several unpleasantries that he would administer with great joy to Zira. It didn't scare the fallen angel though, it more just made him wonder exactly what type of person could come up with such creative means of giving pain.

Aziraphale was about to say goodbye, when he remembered something. “Wait, before you go, Cas wanted to know if both of you were alright.”

There was silence for a few seconds until Dean answered. “Well, Sam's okay, but just out of it from . . . Well just tell him from the trials, he'll understand.” 

“Dean, I feel fine. I feel great actually.” Sam argued. “Look, tell Cas that I'm feeling great and that Dean and I are fine and are coming to get him.” The next part was inaudible but Zira guessed that it was Dean arguing back. Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow. There was obviously some story behind the trials, whatever they were. Probably something about court, he speculated.

Aziraphale decided then that it would best to mutter a quick goodbye into the phone and hang up. Whatever they were arguing about he didn't want to get into. He put on the phone back on the hook and walked off, intent on telling Cas the good news. Maybe after that Aziraphale could curl up in that alleyway and get as close to sleep as possible. After two decades of not being able to sleep, he realized he had actually forgotten how. Nevertheless, he could still just pretend, and tomorrow, Cas' friends would come to pick him up and Aziraphale . . . Well Aziraphale would figure out what do with himself. 

It was quite early in the morning when Aziraphale woke, or more accurately, opened his eyes and stopped pretending that he was asleep. Cas was curled up, sound asleep with Zira's scarf still keeping him warm a few feet away. Bright rays of sunlight had broken through the barrier of clouds that blocked the sky, but that wasn't what had made Aziraphale open his eyelids. The sound of footsteps approaching had.

Looking up, Zira saw that there were three of them, two women and a man. The trio made an odd combo. The man was wearing a nurse uniform. The shorter of the two woman was adorned in plaid top and jeans and the other woman had on a green pantsuit. Aziraphale's first thought was that these were Mr.Winchester's friends. Although they had sounded like two men over the phone, technology had that nasty habit of changing peoples voice. Maybe they also decided to bring along another person. What other reason would three strangers have for walking into an alley?

The woman in the green pantsuit stepped forward. “We are here for Castiel.” She declared, eyeing the sleeping form on the ground. Aziraphale smiled and began to stand. It was just Mr.Winchester's friends to come and take him home, no reason to fret. Thinking about it, Zira didn't know why he was worried in the first place. His thoughts were interrupted by the trio pulling out their blades. They were sleek and silver and looked like a hybrid between dagger and sword, but most importantly, there was no mistaking that they were of divine origin.

His eye's widened. “Oh, would you look at that, they've upgraded . . .” Aziraphale muttered, trying to hide his panic. Zira tried to rack his brain for a reason they would be there for Cas. For three angels to go and hunt down a single human was absurd. It didn't make sense. Overall, it was definite cause for panic. The fact that flashes of his last twenty-year encounter with angels had decided to make a break to the front of Zira's mind did not help his growing terror in the slightest.

Without warning, Cas jumped up from his position on the ground where Aziraphale thought him to still be sleeping. “Zira, you need to run.” He demanded, stepping forward to shield the other man.

Aziraphale ignored the order and tried to step in front of Cas himself. “I don't think so my dear.” Zira countered, looking around for something to use as a weapon. Oh why did he have to loose his flaming sword . . . “This is something beyond you.” The three angels were now advancing on the duo and neither of them had anything to protect themselves with. To be fair, Aziraphale was almost positive that even with a weapon, Cas could not protect himself. He was just a human after all and although they excelled in things like composing works of art and preparing raw fish, fighting celestial beings was not their forte. 

The trio of angels halted their advance and the one wearing the nurse glanced between the two beings in front of him, as if they were both nothing but diseased animals needing to be put down. “What is your name?” He asked, his voice ringing clearly through the alley.

Cas stepped forward, still trying to guard the other. Castiel could feel his breathing pick up again and he felt dizzy once more. They were going to kill them both. “Ambriel, Jehoel, Ramiel, you do not need to do this. We fought alongside each other-”

“Enough!” Ambriel cut off. “You are a traitor Castiel, and any angel who dare aids you is thereby a traitor as well. So, I will ask again,” He spoke, turning to Zira. “What is your name?”

It was then that both Castiel and Zira had their own moment of clarity. A moment where both of them realized that the other was also of Angelic stock. A moment where both of them felt like slapping themselves due to their own stupidity. Feeling it unnecessary to hit themselves at that crucial moment, both just let a soft oh escape their lips as they turned to each other.

Aziraphale felt somewhat ridiculous. How had he not realized before then that the man he was helping was in fact an Angel? Well, a former Angel by the looks of it. Aziraphale noted that unlike the others, Cas lacked that faint glow of divine light that surrounded an Angel's vessel, odd. Even worse, how had he not realized that something was amiss when they had referred to him as Castiel? Although he didn't do social visits and had skipped the Heavenly Christmas parties almost every single year since it's creation, Zira had assumed that he would still recognize the names of some of his brothers and sisters. Apparently that wasn't the case.

Castiel also wondered why he himself hadn't been recognized. This was not out of vanity, though. It just seemed like every Angel knew the name and face of Castiel from what he had done in Heaven. This was only worsened now that he caused them all to be cast out. Surely no Angel could claim to not know of who he was.

Ambriel grew angrier at the silence that festered .“I will not ask again. Tell me your name or you will suffer.”

“There is no need for violence-” Aziraphale began, but the other angels decided that, yes, there was definitely a need for violence as they took up their fighting stances. A need that would only end when the Zira's and Castiel's throats were filling with to much blood to say silly things like, 'there is no need for violence'.

Aziraphale again looked around desperately for a weapon or an escape route, he wasn't picky, either one would have done quite nicely. Although no escape route presented itself to him, a silver blade did. Castiel glanced over at him, arm outstretched with the blade while his right hand grasped another identical weapon. Aziraphale decided not to comment on the fact that revealing that he had two powerful holy weapons earlier would have been nice and instead took the offered blade. He did not even have time to get a firm grasp on the cooled metal before they were attacked.

Jehoel, the angel in plaid, dove for Castiel as she raised her arm, her blade aiming down for his shoulder. Castiel quickly swung up and intercepted the weapon and tried to twist it just so to knock the blade out of Jehoel's hand. This was a difficult task, seeing as Cas still could not use his left arm to the full extent due to his previous fight with the men under the bridge. Meanwhile, Aziraphale was dealing with Ramiel and Ambriel, each circling him but hesitant to attack due to the fact that Aziraphale was no longer defenseless.

Ambriel was the one to make the first move. He lunged forward with his sword, a move that Aziraphale easily sidestepped, causing him to run into the narrow alley walls. Distracted by Ambriel's failed attack, Aziraphale almost didn't see Ramiel's own move as she swung her sword out, managing to catch Zira's arm. He let out a gasp. Looking over to his arm, Zira could see the beginnings of crimson seep up from the wound. Knowing full well that was there nothing to be done, Zira ignored the pain and countered Ramiel's move, swinging out with his own blade.

Castiel was still struggling against Jehoel, every swing he tried was blocked by her sword. The sound of metal clanking against metal could be heard resounding off the the brick of the alley walls. Zira silently hoped that the commotion of their fight wouldn't attract the authorities. No need to get any humans mixed up in their battle. While Zira was still fending off the two angels, Castiel was shoved to the ground by a well placed jab to the chest with an elbow.

Jehoel leered over him, her smile straight out of Alice in Wonderland. With one swift sweep of Castiel's legs, Jehoel came tumbling down. That moment of surprise, those few seconds of confusion, gave Cas the upper hand he needed. Without hesitation he rolled over and stabbed her in the stomach, ramming it through until he hit the vessels spinal cord. A bright light accompanied Jehoel's scream in filling the alley. Aziraphale, Ramiel and Ambriel all turned towards the final sound of a being so magnificent that they had attended the birth of the planets, dying at the end of a blade. 

Castiel pulled his blade from the now empty vessel of the Angel Jehoel and picked himself up off the ground. Aziraphale could only stare. He had never killed an angel before. Going into this, he hadn't thought that he was going to kill his attackers, knock unconscious perhaps, but end their existence, no. The worse part was the fact that it wasn't just the life of an angel they took, but a human as well. Aziraphale looked at the girl on the ground once more. She couldn't have been older than seventeen. Zira supposed he had been naïve, he went into a fight with a sword which killed angels, what were the possible outcomes that didn't involve calling down Death to take the final swing?

Aziraphale had no time to further contemplate the lifeless body in plaid as the fight had now resumed. Castiel was taking on Ambriel with his stained blade and Ramiel once again began to attack Zira with a rekindled vengeance. The fight seemed to drag on. Someone would lunge with their blade, the other would block, and then they would lunge with their own blade as the other blocked, and the cycle continued. 

Finally someone deviated from the pattern. Ambriel lunged for Cas, but this time the former angel side-stepped and grabbed the other angel by his nurse top, shoving him up against a grimy dumpster. Aziraphale could only just glance over at the pair for a second before refocusing on the blade coming at him. He hoped this time Castiel wouldn't resort to killing. There honestly had to be another way to sort this out. Zira didn't know what Cas had done to warrant him being hunted down, but whatever it was, no one else needed to die.

Zira was now in a position where he couldn't see Castiel or Ambriel, but could only hear the clashing of his own blade against Ramiel's. 

And then there was light.

The light encompassed the entire alley, temporally blinding all in it. It was everything a divine light was supposed to be, bright as stars, departing with the faint scent of pine and lemon and leaving whomever was touched by it feeling immeasurably heartbroken for those few seconds. Then it ended. In place of that holy light was the corpse of an unnamed Nurse who was unfortunate enough to accept the Angel Ambriel into his body. 

Aziraphale blinked. He couldn't see it, but Zira could here the definite thud of another body slipping off the end of Castiel's blade and onto the ground. Now it was just Aziraphale and Castiel versus Ramiel. None of them looked better than the other. Castiel's left arm was hanging limply at his side and the cuts along with forehead and arms showed the few times his opponents had been able to get at him. He was also slightly swaying from side to side, exhaustion finally catching up with the human. The green pantsuit Ramiel's vessel was wearing had gotten torn in the fight and now looked like a macabre holiday outfit from the lines of red blood crisscrossing down the fabric. Aziraphale's own arm wound was throbbing and the other minor wounds were steadily gushing blood. 

Castiel didn't even look back on the other corpse he had dumped on the ground as he strode over to Zira's side. Ramiel was pressed up against the wall, her blade out in front of her, taking on more of the qualities of a pit bull every time either Cas or Zira moved. 

“This is what you have done to us, Castiel.” Ramiel spat bitterly, gesturing to the bodies lying on the pavement. She looked up them, chin jutting out. Blood that wasn't hers stained her vessel. “You brought the downfall of us all, yet you try an escape justice for your sins.” 

Aziraphale glanced over to Castiel trying to get some indication of what she was going on about. His eyes were downcast as if he could not meet Ramiel's stare and his mouth was set into a frown.

“You should have been put down long ago, like the mutt you truly are Castiel. Wherever you go, misery and death trail in your wake.” Aziraphale was now truly worried. Castiel had not moved to defend himself against her hateful words. He honestly had to wonder if maybe helping Castiel wasn't the right thing to do. He hoped that wasn't true. Someone like Castiel couldn't be bad, could he?

Ramiel continued. “You will be sent down to the lowest pits of Hell for what you have done Castiel. At least you will have company though.” And for the first time during her speech, Ramiel smiled. Zira wished she hadn't. “We'll be sending down the Winchester's right after you.”

There was no hesitation as Castiel drove the silver dagger straight into her heart, his face twisted into one of rage. Aziraphale closed his eyes this time as the light spilled out from Ramiel's chest, not wanting to watch as another Angel died. When Zira cracked opened his eyes again, the light had ceased and woman in the green pantsuit laid dead at his feet. Without a word, Castiel walked away from the body and sat down against the wall, his deep breaths betraying how much the fight had truly taken out of him. 

Walking over to Cas, Zira kneeled down next the former Angel as to get a better look at his wounds. Aziraphale's was lucky. His own gashes would heal in good time without a problem, but Castiel's ran the risk of getting infected. Aziraphale gingerly lifted Cas' arm, the other starring in the opposite direction of the bodies. Zira wanted to say something. Wanted to ask about Ramiel's words. Looking at Castiel's face, his eyes hollow and vacant, Zira couldn't bring himself to break the silence.

No matter what either of them wanted, the silence was broken anyways. The crash of feet against the pavement, like sticks against a drum, alerted them of more people entering the alley. Zira spun around, fumbling with his sword, The two strangers stood, towering above the two, with guns poised for attack.

Zira's eye's widened and he became overcome with dread. He could see divine light. One of them was an Angel. An Angel with a gun. He supposed that if he had actually been remembering to breathe for the last few minutes he would have gasped.

The two giants stopped. Zira looked over to the the taller one, the angel. Zira let the signs of confusion wash over his face. Where just moments ago he had before seen the divine light surrounding the vessel, there was nothing. Aziraphale didn't ponder it for long; It must have been a trick of the light.

The slightly shorter of the two, which didn't say much as the taller seemed to be a modern day Goliath, stepped towards them.

“You the guy on the phone?” He asked cautiously. Zira's eyes widened. So these were Sam and Dean. Realizing he had been starring, Aziraphale quickly nodded.

With this confirmation, the two men turned away from Zira to Castiel. The fallen angel raised his head and gasped. Sam Winchester, who not a week ago had been in a hospital verging on death, was standing in front of him, perfectly healthy. He was smiling down at Cas and even had a faint glow associated with health around him. When Zira had told him that Sam was in good condition, he hadn't excepted him to be this healthy. There was no sign he was ever ill. Castiel hurried to scramble up from his position on the ground.

“Sam . . .” He breathed out. “ How are you-” Castiel tried to collect his thoughts. “You were in-” From behind Sam's lumbering form, Cas caught Dean furiously shaking his head. Social cues weren’t exactly his thing, but Cas could definitely understand that this one meant stop talking immediately. He shut his mouth and simply stared up at Sam.

“Hey Cas, are you okay?” Sam asked concerned while examining the cuts along his arms and head. Cas nodded, trying to ignore that nagging little voice inside his head saying something was wrong with the man in front of him.

Sam smiled and placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder. “It's great to see you, Cas.” With this, Castiel forgot all about his worries over Sam's miraculous recovery and was simply glad to see his friend again. Dean chose this time to step out from behind Sam to face Cas. 

Castiel's smile fell. Dean knew what he had done. Dean knew that he had caused the Angel's to fall. That he ignored Dean's advice and trusted Metatron. Dean knew he was no longer Angel . . . 

All of these stops thoughts when without a word Dean stepped forward and brought Castiel into a hug. Although it was mumbled, Cas could hear Dean faintly say, “Don't ever do that again.” Cas didn't exactly know what 'that' was referring to, but whatever it was, Castiel would do his best not to do it. He would do anything for Dean.

Off to the side, Aziraphale stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do during this tender moment. He decided that the best course of action would simply be to go over to the tall one, Sam he thought, who was also standing off to the side while the other two hugged and quickly say goodbye and then leave. That plan did not work out at all.

As soon as Aziraphale stepped over to where Sam was, Dean and Castiel broke off their hug, leaving the three of them to stare oddly down at Zira. 

“Um, well . . .” Aziraphale began. “It seems like you're all set up now Cas. It was nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand. Castiel glanced down at the offered limb and after a moments hesitation, grabbed it awkwardly. “I wish you luck.”

“As do I.” Cas replied, still trying to figure out what to do with the hand he was holding. Maybe he should stroke it? Before Cas could decide, Zira released his hand and left the alley without a word.

Ten minutes later, Castiel was sitting in the back of the Impala. Although he felt happy to be back with Sam and Dean, Cas couldn't help but feel guilty about leaving Zira on his own.

“Hey Cas, you okay back there?” Dean called from the front seat. After Cas had explained what had happened, he had fallen oddly silent.

“We need to help Zira.” 

Stopped at a traffic light, Dean turned around in his seat. “What?”

“Dean, he has no where to go. It is my fault that the angels fell.” Dean tried to interrupt that it was actually that dick Metatron's fault, but Cas continued. “It is only right that I help him. Without Zira, I might not have been able to contact you some time. There is room at the bunker and he might be able to help us.”

A horn honking from behind them alerted Dean that the light had turned green. “Look, Cas, we're not starting some shelter for lost angels.” In the rearview mirror, Dean could see Castiel's face harden. “ Look, we're going to help the angels. We're gonna find away to get everyone back into Heaven and stop Metatron, but taking in every angel you meet isn't gonna help.”

Cas began to pout from the backseat. 

“You know, Cas has a point.” Sam began. Dean turned to glare at him for a second before turning back to the road. “Look, from what Cas said, Zira sounds like a pretty good guy, we don't exactly meet many angels like that.”

Dean stared ahead at the road, not looking at either of his passengers. “The answer is no. That's final.”

Not looking at Sam or Cas proved to not work, as he could tell they were both glaring at him. “Dean, in case you haven’t noticed, we're kinda lacking any allies at the moment and with civil wars in Heaven and Hell, we need them more than ever.” Sam reasoned.

“I said that's final.” Dean replied, feeling angrier and angrier as the conversation went on. “We already have enough angels helping us right now, we don't need anymore.”

Silence filled the car. “Dean . . .” Cas sounded confused. “As you know, I am no longer an angel and since the three in the trunk are currently dead, they do not count. So . . .” With a cold feeling, Dean realized what he was getting at. “Which angels are you referring to?”

“Um, well, you know . . .” Dean sputtered. He glanced over at Sam who was glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. He couldn't tell them, not yet. Dean remembered very clearly what Ezekiel said. “Nothing, I'm just getting confused. Didn't get my four hours last night.” Sam and Cas apparently bought it, as they both sat back in their seats and stopped looking at him as if he had gone crazy. But there was still the problem of Zira, which Dean could tell was not going to be dropped as Cas was still pouting.

Dean sighed. He was definitely going to regret this. “You know what, fine. Zira can come back with us.” Dean muttered. Immediately Castiel's face brightened. “But only if we happen to pass him on the way out of town. I'm not driving around for hours looking for one guy.” 

Cas smiled at him. “Thank you, Dean.” Dean let a small smile grace his lips. On the inside though, he just hoped that he would never have to see Zira or the ugly sweater he was wearing ever again.

As it turns out, Dean doesn’t often get what he wants. Five minutes later, he was starring back at said ugly sweater in his rearview mirror. The owner of the woolen monstrosity was sitting next to Castiel, thanking him over and over again. Dean swore to himself that if this guy turned out to be a total bastard, like almost every other angel they've encountered, he's gonna stab him and burn his clothing. Or maybe just set him on fire, that could work. Whatever he decided on, Dean just wanted to go home, sleep in his room and forget about all of this angel crap for just one night.

Dean was so caught up in fantasizing about his memory foam mattress, he almost didn't spot the group of people under the bridge they were coming up to. They were all on their knees praying, a few even seemed to be weeping. With the windows rolled down, the occupants of the Impala could all hear the cry's of fully grown men begging the Lord for forgiveness. The windows were quickly rolled up. If anyone noticed the way Zira squirmed in his seat while fidgeting with hands, they said nothing. 

They continued to drive, the men under the bridge pushed to the back of their minds. They all had bigger things to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! And don't worry, I know in this chapter Aziraphale totally comes across as someone who can't fight and is a major pacifist, well we'll definitely see in later chapters that Aziraphale is a total badass who, when his loved ones are in danger, will kick some ass.


	3. Don't Loose Your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was not that Aziraphale didn't like the bunker, with it's first edition novels and broken lightbulbs, he just wanted to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the next chapter. I just want to thank everyone who has read, reviewed and liked my story, you guys are awesome and I hope you all continue to like it!

Looking around, Aziraphale had to admit that compared to the secret bunkers he had been in, the Winchester's one was quite nice. He was standing in some sort of foyer, wood panels covered the floor and stacks upon stacks of books were lined up on the sides of the room in beautiful mahogany shelves. Aziraphale desperately wanted to go over and look at them all, but Sam was already moving on, determined to give Zira a tour of the bunker. Aziraphale did suspect though that his own liking of the bunker was less to do with the interior decorating and more to do with the simple fact that he was just pleased to be anywhere besides that infernal car.

The ride over to the bunker had been difficult to put it lightly. When Dean hadn't been insisting on playing that awful music which, in Aziraphale's opinion, somehow managed to be worse than Be-bop, he had been arguing with Sam on the best tactic to keep the location of their secret bunker actually a secret. Suggestions had come up such as putting a blindfold over Zira's eyes and Dean had even proposed sticking him in the trunk. He had later claimed that idea had been a joke when Castiel had gotten upset. Somehow Aziraphale didn't quite believe him. The discussion had ended abruptly when Zira had embarrassingly admitted that he wouldn't be able to give someone the location of the bunker when they got there if he wanted to. The angel had no clue where in America he was and his knowledge of U.S states was limited to Virginia, New York, South Carolina and “that odd one that looks like an upside down L.”

“So, this is the bunker.” Sam started, motioning around to the main room. “Don't get confused if Dean also calls it the Batcave, it's just a movie reference.” Zira remained silent. Sam, Dean and Castiel were still under the impression that the angel was completely clueless to everything earth related. No matter how many times he explained that he had lived on earth for thousands of years, he was still getting explanations on how cars worked and what hot dogs were.

“Kitchen is down that hall to the left. The library is off to the right and I'll show you where your room will be.” Sam explained, turning around to give Zira a smile. Out of the three, Sam was definitely doing his best to make Aziraphale feel welcome. Cas was trying, but whenever the topic of angels was brought up, he would shut down and avoid eye contact with the other angel at all costs. Dean was by far the worst. He was constantly on edge around Zira and was making no attempt to hide his distrust. Passive-aggressive comments had been plentiful during the car ride to the bunker which left Aziraphale wondering what he could have possibly done to make the elder Winchester hate him.

“That's Dean's room.” Sam mentioned as he pointed off to the right. Aziraphale wasn't really sure why Sam was telling him where Dean's room was. He highly doubted that Dean would be pleased if Zira just popped by his room for a social visit. “My room is down that hallway to the left, and here's your room.” The hunter twisted the golden doorknob and opened the door, then stepped aside to let Zira through.

Aziraphale's first impression of the room was that it was very dark. The angel stepped into the unlit space and flipped on the light switch. It was still dark. Zira turned back to look at Sam who was standing in the doorway looking sheepish.

“Oh, um, I guess the lightbulb's broken . . .” Sam guessed, looking up at the faulty fixture. “We can fix that later.”

Zira let a weak smile grace his face. “Thank you.” He said, but there was no real emotion behind his words. He was grateful that he had been allowed a place to stay, but what Aziraphale truly wanted was to go home. Not heaven though, he had stopped considering heaven his home centuries ago. No, Zira wanted to be in his own home in South Downs. In his own bed where the lightbulbs actually worked and where he wasn't just tolerated but loved. What he wanted was Crowley.

The rest of the tour went smoothly, but that was mostly due to the fact that Aziraphale didn't actually say a word throughout the entire thing, instead opting to just nod once in a while. Not even the sight of the bunker's grand library got a word out of him. Sam and Zira eventually ended up back in the main area. At the table Dean was facing Cas, tying a rough sling around his arm and patching up the worst of his cuts. Two cheep beers had been placed next to the pair and while Dean's looked almost empty, Castiel's was nearly untouched. When Sam and Zira walked in, Dean glanced up for a second, scowled, and then looked back down. The younger Winchester smiled apologetically towards Zira.

“So yeah, that's the bunker.” Sam began, trying to fill the awkward silence that covered the room. It didn't help. The silence continued to drown the four occupants in a cold sea of awkward glances and shuffling feet. Looking around, Zira wondered if he could slip away to the library without being noticed. Without warning, a loud crash sounded from deep within the recesses bunker just as Aziraphale was starting to shuffle out of the room. Everyone looked up.

Dean Groaned. “Ugh, Crowley probably tipped over his chair or something.” He looked over to Sam. “I vote we leave him there.”

Sam was about to put on his best condescending scowl and explain why they couldn't just leave Crowley sprawled out on the floor of their dungeon when he noticed Zira. The angel wasn't moving, just standing beside him like a statue. His eyes were widened and it looked like he wasn't breathing.

“Hey Sam, you listening?” Dean asked, slightly annoyed that his brother wasn't giving him some speech on morals or the Geneva Convention and instead was staring at the new angel.

Instead of replying to his brother, Sam turned to face Zira. “Hey, are you okay?” He questioned. Aziraphale didn't reply. He hadn't been listening to any of the words spoken after the first sentence. “Zira?” Sam asked again. At that point everyone had turned to him, even Dean.

Aziraphale drew in a shaky breath he didn't truly need. “Who is Crowley?”

Sam looked at him, puzzled. “He's a demon we captured . . . If you're worried about him escaping-”

“What is he like?” Zira broke in, not letting Sam finish his sentence.

“Let me put it this way.” Dean chimed in, addressing Zira for one the first times since he had arrived. “If I had to describe Crowley in three words, they would be, short, poncey and british. Oh and he has this weird thing for suits.” Sam and Castiel nodded in agreement. Draining the last of his beer, Dean looked up at Zira. “Why do you want to know anyways?”

Aziraphale sputtered. Everyone was looking at him again, all with questioning expressions sprawled across their faces. “ Well, u-um, you know . . .” He mumbled, staring down at his slightly tattered shoes. Apparently that five syllable response was not going to be sufficient as the stares did not end.

“Just Curious.” Zira finally managed to fumble out, flinching at how awful his own lie was. He started to inch his way towards one of the exits. “Oh would you look at the time!” Aziraphale exclaimed while looking down at the wristwatch he didn't own. “I should definitely be heading to bed.” He said with a yawn which would have been far more convincing if angels actually needed to yawn or sleep. There was a reason that Zira used to be apart of the public relations department and not the espionage sector of Heaven. Lying was not his area of expertise.

Aziraphale continued backing up until he lightly smacked into the concrete wall. Sam, Dean and Cas were all advancing on him. Sam looked concerned, Castiel confused and Dean just eyed Zira suspiciously as his right hand reached behind into his back pocket. Zira chanced a quick glance at the door; It was only a few feet away. Thinking back on it later, Zira would wonder why he did not just wait until night time when everyone else would be asleep, but at that point logic really wasn't factoring into Aziraphale's decisions. So he did the one thing he could think of.

Aziraphale ran.

He could hear the shouts of the others behind him but he really didn't care at that point. He was going to find Crowley and it would take far more than two Witchfinders, or hunters or whatever they called themselves nowadays, and a former angel to stop him.

Back in the foyer, Sam turned towards his brother who had grabbed his handgun out of his back pocket. “What the hell was that?!”

Glancing at his brother, Dean cocked his gun. “Come on Sam, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?” Sam just stared. He glanced over at Cas, hoping he might explain what was going on, but Castiel was already making his way towards the door with Dean despite his injuries.

“Dean wait!” Sam called out. Dean spun around in the doorframe and looked at Sam. “Tell me what's going on.”

The elder Winchester kept looking at Sam for a few seconds before he turned to Castiel.“Cas, you go on ahead and try and stop him.” Castiel gave a nod and began walking out of the room after Zira. “Oh and Cas,” Dean quickly called after him. “Be careful.”

Castiel smiled. “Of course, Dean.” He then jogged out of the main room into the many twisting corridors of the bunker.

Dean once again turned back to Sam, who was getting equally more confused and frustrated by the second. “Here's the deal Sam,” Dean began. “Right now, we have a demon who is the poster child for all things bad and unholy in our dungeon. We also have an angel who believes in everything good and holy and he just found out the King of Hell is chained up somewhere and is about as threatening as a newborn. Do you see the problem here?”

Sam felt his eyes widen as realization dawned on him. “Shit . . .”

“Exactly.” Dean said as he headed back out the exit. “Crowley's no use to us if he's dead.”

Elsewhere in the bunker, Zira was beginning to get frustrated. For a place that only housed four people, it had an over abundance of rooms. As Aziraphale opened yet another room only to find it housing dust and lost memories, he let out a irritated groan. He could feel the beginnings of panic settling through his body. The Winchester's had said the demon's name was Crowley and how Dean had described him had fit Zira's own demon perfectly, but there was always that chance that it wasn't _his_ Crowley. 

After all, Crowley was a very popular name in Hell, Aziraphale repeated silently to himself as he continued his search. Crowley had once explained to him how at one point it was a popular trend in Hell to change one's name to someone who was the embodiment of sin. Apparently for a while almost every demon and it's hellhound went by the name of Ivan, Adolf, Jeffery or Vlad. Although Crowley wasn't exactly evil incarnate, nor was anyone with that name now that Aziraphale thought about it, it would not be that surprising if another demon had dubbed itself Crowley.

Even so, Zira was coming undone at the thought that death had yet to claim his friend. That wasn't even a figure of speech, Aziraphale was literally coming undone. He was loosing his concentration and the angel knew that the chance of his wings popping out from his corporation was becoming a greater possibility by the minute. Oxygen hadn't even reached his lungs in at least two minutes due to breathing being bumped down on his priorities list and the thought of blinking just hadn't really occurred to Zira in a while. The angel wasn't even positive his vessel's heart was beating, although it didn't really matter either way. If anyone were to see him at that moment, their first thoughts probably weren't going to be about why it didn't particularly look like he was continuing any bodily functions and more along the lines of how he was running so fast.

A few minutes later, Aziraphale stopped outside a door labeled 7B. On the other side of the threshold laid the possibility of being reunited with his friend and lover. Zira would have liked to think that the reason he found the room was due to his great deductive reasoning skills he had acquired through his reading of the fifty-six short stories and four novels about the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Crowley had once called the angel's fixation on the novels an obsession, but Aziraphale preferred the term 'admiration'. No matter whether it was an obsession or an admiration, the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle could not actually be attributed with Zira finding the room. In fact, Aziraphale had simply searched for any demonic presence in the bunker using his weakened grace. He was a tad bit embarrassed he hadn't thought to do it earlier.

Not wanting to wait any further, Aziraphale grabbed the handle and swung the door open. What he was greeted with was not Crowley, it wasn't even a demon. Along all the walls were just boxes of papers and files. There was nobody there.

Aziraphale felt like screaming. He did not have time for this, Dean, Sam and Castiel were going to be upon him any second and he was quite sure they were not going to be too pleased about his attempted jail break. Reaching out once more with his grace, Aziraphale sought out the demonic presence. It was dim and was a unorganized mixture of emotions, most of which were fear, anger, loneliness and a overwhelming sense of guilt. 

Aziraphale didn't remember Crowley's presence to be any thing like this one. Crowley's was demonic yes, but there was still those traces of love and compassion that surfaced every now and again. Zira brushed his worries to the side. There was no need to fret, after all people can change over two decades, he thought to himself in an attempt to soothe his growing fears.

The angel followed this essence like a beacon in a storm to the back of the room. He stopped abruptly when he came to a shelf. Zira looked at it, wondering if there was a secret lever he needed to pull. He began to randomly grab at the books and files on the shelf, flinging them to the other side of the room. This did nothing but create a mess. Suddenly having a thought, Zira tried pushing on the bookshelf, hoping it worked like a door.

“Incase you've forgotten luv, it's a pull, not a push.” A voice called snidely from behind the shelf. Aziraphale jumped back slightly and felt a faint blush color his cheeks. The voice hadn't particularly sounded like Crowley's, but that didn't mean much, he'd probably gotten a new corporation. Yes, that was the reason, Aziraphale assured himself as he pulled open the shelves which groaned like the living dead

The room he entered was dark. There were a few dimmed lights hanging from the ceiling which illuminated a knocked over table and a chair. Chained to the chair was a man in a black suit gazing curiously up at Zira. Atop his head was slightly thinning wisps of black hair that contrasted sharply with his sickly pale skin and five o'clock shadow.

“Huh . . .” The demon let out a noncommittal noise. “Well you certainly weren't who I was expecting. Who are you then? Chip n Dale's new plaything, I suppose . . .” The demon said while inspecting his fingernails, trying to appear that his new companion had already lost his interest.

Aziraphale just stared. “You're not Crowley.” He whispered.

Aziraphale remembered Crowley's true form, the one that shined through whatever corporation he was in to reveal the face of a fallen angel. He had been so beautiful, like rays of sunlight through tinted glass. The demon which sat before Zira was nothing like Crowley. This was a soul which had been twisted and corroded by the fires of Hell until it relinquished it's hold on it's own humanity and became a servant of evil.

The demon looked up again, confused. “Sorry to break this to you, but I am Crowley. The one and only, mind you.” He smirked while trying to gesture to himself which was hindered severely by the cuffs on his wrists.

“No . . . No you're not.” Aziraphale stated plainly, all emotion drained from his voice. “Your not the Crowley I'm looking for.”

The demon raised an eyebrow. “Now why is an angel looking for a demon?” Zira started to speak but Crowley cut him off. “And yes, I know you're an angel. You reek of good intentions and morals.” He scoffed lightly. “Might as well put a sign on your forehead . . . Now again, why are you searching for a demon? I am correct in assuming it is a demon your looking for, right? That is unless some bastard actually cursed a human child with the name Crowley.”

“Yes, he is a demon and I'm looking for him because he is . . . was my . . .” Aziraphale hesitated, not sure how much he should reveal. “Friend.” He finally stated.

Crowley chuckled. “Really? A demon and an angel? Friends? Sorry luv, not buying it.”

Stammering indignantly, Aziraphale took a step toward the demon. “He was my friend!” 

“It's incredible really how thick you angels can be sometimes.” Crowley grinned. “I'll let you in on a little secret, your . . .” The demon's mouth curled around the word like it was rotten. “ _Friendship_ with that demon, it wasn't real. They were just using you.”

Aziraphale felt the rage inside of him, which had lied dormant for decades, start to fester. He wanted to lash out at the demon. Honestly, it looked like the demon wanted him to strike out as well. Crowley had leaned forward and was even baring his neck slightly to the angel. Instead of taking the bait, Aziraphale turned away and began to walk out of the room.

“Ah come on, I was so enjoying our little chat! ” Crowley jeered after him. “I never even learned your name.”

Zira stopped and without so much as turning around, disdainfully muttered “Aziraphale.” He had nearly made it out of the doorway when the demon called after him again.

“We've met before, you know.”

Zira slowly turned around, eyeing the chained demon suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“Seventeenth century, Scotland.” Was all Crowley said. When Zira gave no suggestion that he understood, Crowley sighed. “Canisbay, Scotland, 1690. Ring any bells?” Aziraphale continued to stare, obviously lost to what Crowley was going on about. Groaning, Crowley looked like he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Oh you bloody angel, my name was Fergus MacLeod.”

Something clicked in Zira's mind. “Oh, I remember you!” He finally exclaimed.

“It's a bloody miracle.” Crowley sighed.

“Yes, you were that fellow who interrupted Crowley and my's supper. You certainly were crying a lot-”

“That's not important.” Crowley quickly stated trying to shut the angel up. “What I want to know is what happened to him? Why are you looking for Crowley?”

Aziraphale paused and thought about it for a second. “Because I hoped that what heaven had told me, that Crowley had been killed by Hell, had been false.” Saying it out loud, Zira realized with a sinking feeling in his chest that what he thought was a somewhat realistic hope was in fact more akin to a pipe dream. Earlier he had tried to not get his hopes up. He had repeated to himself all the things that would point to the fact that Crowley wasn't here, that he was dead, yet he didn't listen “I just wanted him to be here.” The last statement was a mere whisper, just a wisp of wind that blew through the dungeon and faded away into oblivion.

Zira couldn't stand it anymore. He could not bare to be in that dungeon a second longer. He turned away from the grim place and this time when the demon called after him, the only reply he got was the thud of the doors slamming shut.

Walking on autopilot out of the doorway and down the hall, Aziraphale did not notice the sight of three men crouched right outside the door of room 7B, all of whom had all been listening to nearly every word he had spoken. Even the crash of footsteps echoing behind him did not stop Zira's march until a hand shot out and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“What was that all about?!” Dean demanded as he spun Zira around to face him. Behind him, Sam and Cas were jogging up to meet the duo.

Aziraphale merely shrugged and put on a tight-lipped smile. “Nothing, just a simple misunderstanding, that's all.”

Dean huffed. “Yeah, simple misunderstanding my-”

“If you don't mind,” Zira interrupted as he pulled himself out of Dean's grasp. “I'm think I'm going to just head back to my room now.”

Dean didn't even get the chance to retort before Zira had turned on his heels and strode away back down the corridor. He had made it all the way back to his new room before he remembered the lightbulb still didn't work. Zira sighed. He couldn't exactly go and ask one of the others to come help him fix it after the scene he had just pulled and he had used up what was left of his drained powers searching for the demon, so just willing the lightbulb to work was out of the question until his grace replenished itself. Not knowing what else to do, Aziraphale flopped down onto the bed, stirring up clouds of thick dust which clogged the air in the process.

Although exhausted, Aziraphale did not sleep. He just stared up into the darkness, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the bunker. As he flinched at a particularly ominous creak, Zira could not help but think back once again on how he just wanted to go home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one can convince me otherwise that Aziraphale wasn't obsessed with the Sherlock Holmes books when they came out. :) I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! I promise that good omens Crowley will come in the next chapter and I'm planning on writing and uploading chapter 4 soon. Thanks again for reading!


	4. You Don't Fool Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam thought he knew what angels were like. Dean thought he knew what demon's were like. They were both terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the like 2 month delay, I had honestly planned to write this one right after the last chapter, but something about this chapter really stumped me. I had to re-write the beginning 5 times until I actually liked it. Even now that I've written it I'm still not exactly sure how I feel about it seeing as it was way longer than I expected it to be. Anyways, I hope you guy's enjoy this chapter!

Sam stared. His eyebrows were furrowed and the book in his hand was nearly forgotten.

Watching silently from over the yellowing edges of an old tome, Sam watched Zira as he shuffled from bookshelf to bookshelf, softly humming a tune which kept switching from the first movement of Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons', to the theme song of Cheers. 

It wasn't that Sam couldn't concentrate with the humming. He had learned over the many years of living with Dean how to block out unwanted noise. What really bothered him was that each time Sam had nearly figured Zira out, the angel would go and do something that would completely negate his previous theory.

Over the last three days of Zira living at the bunker, Sam had seen various different sides to the angel. Sometimes Zira acted like a kindly librarian whose worst curse they've ever said was “Oh my goodness!” 

Then there was the other side to Zira that honestly just confused the hunter. Just the day before, Sam had heard Zira quietly singing something from across the library. When Sam had asked what he was singing, the angel had just replied that it was just something by William's and while he didn't particularly like it, Zira had admitted that the lyrics were quite catchy.

While Sam did know that some of Vaughan William's pieces did have lyrics, he was pretty sure none of them included lines such as, “left alone with big fat Fanny” or “take me to them naughty ladies every time”.

Then there was the whole Crowley thing. Zira still wouldn't talk about it. Any attempt to ask why he had tried pulling a jailbreak of the King of Hell would only result in perfectly sculpted replies that ensured that Dean and Sam received an answer, but never the one that they wanted.

Sam had once compared himself to a riddle wrapped inside an enigma wrapped inside a taco. Although with Zira, it was like someone had taken that riddle-enigma taco, stuffed it inside a turducken, put it into a Rubik's cube and then served it up with a side of Sudoku puzzles in the mystery meat lunch line. 

Knowing that staring at Zira from across the library would not help him figure out the puzzle that the angel was, Sam rubbed at his eyes and began to read again. Six lines in, Zira began to hum the Golden Girls theme song. Eight lines in, Sam started feeling a headache forming. Fifteen lines in, a godsend appeared.

“Sam!” Dean called out as he strode into the library. The elder hunter walked straight over to Sam, not paying any attention to Zira. “You want to go see if Crowley's ready to talk yet?” Both hunters pretended not to notice Zira's head snap up at the mention of the demon. Luckily this time, the angel simply eyed them both and went back to reading.

Putting a bookmark in to mark his place, Sam stood up and nodded, stretching out his aching back in the process. “Yeah, sure let's go.” As they walked out of the library, Sam called back behind them. “Hey Zira, I'll be back soon, okay?” Sam wasn't sure if the angel had heard him or not, for all he got in response was more off-key humming.

“So,” Dean began as they walked down the empty hallways. “You learn anything new about Mr.Rodgers in there?”

Sam sighed. “Besides that he likes Queen and eighties sitcoms? Nothing.”

“I don't like this Sam. We know no nothing about him and we're just letting him just hang around the bunker.” Dean had stopped walking and was stood still in the hallway. “He could be working for Metatron or Abbadon or hell knows who else!”

Rubbing at his temple, Sam could feel his headache coming back. “Look, I know, but he does actually seem to want to help.” Dean scoffed lightly, but Sam ignored him. “I think we should trust him. I mean, without Zira, Cas would still be out there hurt and maybe even dead.”

Dean opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead just let it close without so much as a syllable uttered. Sam knew he had hit a sensitive spot. 

“Come on,” Dean said as he turned away from Sam and began walking. “The sooner we talk to Crowley the better.” Sam silently followed his brother down the hallway until they arrived at room 7B. Dean grabbed the handle and opened the door, but before going through he turned back slightly. “Sam,” Dean said quietly, somewhat dangerously. “I don't care if he saved Cas or not, if he betrays us, I will kill him.” With that, Dean walked through the door and into the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well isn't this a lovely surprise.” Crowley drawled. The King of demons leaned back upon his throne of chains and iron, smirking as if the two hunters had walked into his office instead of his cell. “Did you bring the angel with you? Or perhaps Kevin? To be honest I thought the little prophet would have come to visit me by now. We did have such fun before.” Crowley commented dryly. “Or is he dead like everyone else who has the misfortune of associating with the Winchesters?”

The sudden crack of Dean's fist as it smashed into Crowley's nose joined in with the fresh smell of blood that began to drown the room in metal.

“Kevin's not here.” Dean simply said as he wiped his hand down his jeans. Dean was telling the truth, Kevin wasn't at the bunker. Right before they had gone to go get Cas, they had left Kevin at a motel nearby with enough cash, food, sigils and porn to keep a teenager content for a month.

Crowley cracked his neck from side to side and glared up at the Winchesters. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this little visit, then?”

Silently, Sam walked out of the shadows and placed a crayon and a single piece of paper on the metal table. “We want the names of the all demons on earth and who they're possessing” He stated as he stared down the king.

“And don't make up names like last time.” Dean added in threateningly. They had tried doing this two other times so far. The first time, Crowley attempted to stab Dean in the hand with the pencil they had given him. They were more prepared the second time, making sure Crowley only received a very dull crayon, but the demon still managed to be uncooperative. He had only given them three names and those were Aaron .A. Aaronson, Sarah Palin and Jar Jar Binks.

Crowley twirled the crayon around in his hand as he stared down the hunters. “While I would love to give you two idiots the names,” The demon paused, lightly set the crayon down and then folded his hands together. “I can't.”

“And why can't you?” Dean snarled as he leaned forward to glare at the demon.

“Let me ask you this,” Crowley said with a smirk. “Do you think a king knows the names of all of his soldiers?” Rolling his eyes at the silence that followed, Crowley sighed. “I'll take your blank, idiotic stares as a no then.” 

Trying to go for a less violent and loud approach than Dean, Sam calmly stepped forward towards Crowley. “So what you're saying, is that you can't tell us the names of the demons, because you don't know their names?” 

Crowley smiled and slowly clapped his hands. “What a intelligent moose you are.” Crowley's eyes met Dean's. “Now why can't you be smart like your brother, Dean?” 

Cracking his knuckles, the elder hunter turned away from the demon without even humoring him with a response. Sam watched as Crowley's smirk fled his face when he realized that they were both leaving. 

“Wait, where are you going?” In that moment Sam didn't hear the powerful King of Hell. Sam heard the demon that had been in the Church with him; The one that didn't want to be alone with nothing but his sins to keep him company.

“We're not going to waste our time on you if you can't help us.” Dean answered into the darkness, not even bothering to turn around. 

“I didn't say I couldn't help, you oversized moron! I just said that I couldn't give you the names.” Crowley snapped as he tried to regain control. “And if you have even a shred of intelligence, you'll listen to me, because I can tell you who can give you the names.”

This time Dean actually bothered to look at him. “So you're just going to help us, what, out of the kindness of your heart?” No attempt was made to keep the massive of sarcasm out of Dean's voice.

Crowley chuckled. “Kindness of my heart? No, not quite. Try something more along the lines of a deal and you'll have that name before some idiot can go and sell their soul for their dying loved ones or something else equally dimwitted.”

Simultaneously, the dungeon filled with the sound of two voices. The lower, more gruff voice, could easily be heard saying, “No way in Hell!” 

The second voice, sounding simply tired, just replied with a simple, “Okay.” 

The two Winchester's locked eyes. 

“Sam, no.” Dean hissed at his brother. “There is no way we are making a deal with him. This is Crowley we're talking about.”

Giving Dean a look, Sam pulled his brother off to the side of the room and away from Crowley. “Dean, how many demons are out there right now?” Sam whispered angrily. “Hundreds? Thousands? There's no way of knowing without that name.”

“We're not doing this, Sam. We're not making a deal with Crowley.” Dean whispered back just as fiercely.

Sam sighed. “Look, we didn't shut the gates of hell,” Dean moved to speak but Sam continued talking. “But we can do this. We can save all those people the demons are using as vessels. None of them asked for this Dean, and if we have the chance to save them, why shouldn't we take the shot?”

Looking from his brother, to the demon smirking across the room, Dean groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, but I'm not kissing him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, no one had to kiss the King.

Castiel looked on as Dean took a pair of demon handcuffs from the wall of the dungeon. Off to the side, Sam was mixing together a bowl of ingredients. In the middle of the room, where the demon King should have sat, was an empty chair.

“So Cas,” Dean called from the other side of the dungeon. “Are we about to summon Cthulhu, or what?” 

Cas was about to reply that he was unaware that there was a demon by that name, when Sam clarified. “He means is the name Crowley gave an actual demon name?”

Castiel looked down at the paper they had given them. It had an incantation crudely written out in red and a name in the form of a complex sigil made solely out of sleek curves. “Yes, I do believe that the name Crowley has given is authentic. However,” Cas added in with squinted eyes and a frown. “I do not recognize the summoning incantation written here.”

“Yeah that was part of the deal.” Dean explained. “Apparently this demon has the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the office door, so it takes a more powerful spell to drag them out of hell.”

At the mention of the deal, Castiel again peered at the empty chair. “Where is Crowley?” Castiel suddenly look mildly alarmed. “You have not let him free, have you?”

“What? Hell no.” Dean said as he turned to look at Cas. “It was our end of the deal. If he gave us the name, then we would let him out of the dungeon.” No one missed the bitter tone of Dean's voice.

Castiel looked between the two Winchesters. “So where is he now?” 

This time it was Sam who replied. “He's in one of the empty rooms. We put up devil's traps inside and outside the room, so he won't be going anywhere.”

Cas supposed this was meant to comfort him. It did not.

“Kay, so everyone ready?” Dean asked. Sam and Cas both nodded. With a thumbs up from Dean, Castiel began to recite the incantation, his voice rough and deep as it echoed around the dungeon. Next to him, Sam threw a match into the bowl and watched as it contents sizzled and burned like firecrackers in the night. 

Dean watched the center of the room carefully, waiting for the moment when the demon would appear. He wasn't sure what to expect. For all they knew, wherever the demon was currently lurking in the nine circles of hell, they were without a vessel. If that was the case, then a fully manifested demon was about to appear in their bunker. 

It had been nearly five years ago and Dean still remembered the true faces of the demons he saw on the day of his death. Nothing could compare to their forms. Even the most grotesque Rawheads and the Wendigos which still had the flesh of their last meal clinging to their gaping maws did not even come close to how utterly horrifying the face of a demon was. 

There was something about them, how their eyes were hollow and unblinking or how demon's skin seemed to ripple just below the surface and sometimes would come up like grey peaks upon their bodies. Dean remembered how the skin of their lips was pulled back and their cheeks cut in permanent Glasgow smiles to reveal the sharpened teeth underneath. The face of a demon was not something Dean would ever forget.

A wind started up in the dungeon. The dim lights hanging from the ceiling began to swing and flicker, casting shadows that crept over the room. Castiel continued chanting. The bowl burned on. Suddenly a sound like a scream cried out in the dungeon. The lightbulbs shattered in an impressive array of glass which brought the room into a muted twilight.

Dean looked over to Sam and Cas. Sam had grabbed onto Castiel's arm and was urging him away from the bowl, which at that point had enveloped the table in blue flames. From the constant movement of his mouth, Dean was pretty sure Castiel was still reciting the incantation, but he wasn't positive. The steady screaming noise had engulfed the whole room in it's agonized wail and did not allow for any other sound to penetrate through it's thick shell.

Suddenly everything stopped. The fire stopped. The screaming stopped. The wind stopped. It was silent. Sam, Dean and Cas all looked towards the center of the room and stared in disbelief.

Nothing was there.

“Well what a complete load of bull-” Dean did not get to finish his sentence. At that moment all of their senses were attacked. The screaming started up again with a new vengeance. The wind howled and beat upon their bodies without mercy and the fire had turned white and burst up towards the ceiling. It only got worse as black smoke began to pour into the dungeon, swirling around the center of the devils trap as if it was the eye of the storm. 

Everything was too much. Dean covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the chaos swirling around him. He could barely see Castiel next to him as the smoke had swallowed the room in darkness. Without a thought, Dean grabbed onto Cas' hand and pulled them both to the floor to try and shield them from the debris ricocheting around the room.

One by one the chaos that had manifested around them stopped. The smoke was swept away. The fire slowly dwindled into nothingness. The wind stopped it's attack. The screaming was no more.

The three men all looked up to the center of the room again. Sprawled out beneath the chair in the center of the devils trap was no demon of grey flesh or hollow eyes or Glasgow smiles, instead in the dim light coming in from the open door was a unconscious demon in the meatsuit of a naked man.

No one said anything. No one was really sure what to say, in all honesty. Finally, Sam stepped forward toward the unconscious figure. Getting closer, Sam realized that the demon wasn't entirely naked and was in fact wearing a pair of snakeskin shoes. If there had been more light, Sam might have realized that while he had gotten the snakeskin part of it right, the shoes part was less accurate. As he tried to get a closer look, the demon began to stir. 

They watched as the demon let out a low groan as it shakily propped itself up on it's hands. When it finally got itself into a sitting position, the demon opened it's eyes and groggily blinked at it's surroundings.

The first thing Dean saw was yellow. Surrounding a black slitted pupil, were bright golden irises that pierced through the darkness of the dungeon.

The demon groaned and ran a hand through it's dark locks of his hair. It looked up at Dean, Sam and Cas and then winced. “Ngk, any of you mind telling me where I am?” No one spoke. The demon nodded his head at the three and cracked his back. “So that means on earth then, huh . . .” The demon said to no one in particular. 

Staring incredulously at the demon, Sam sputtered. “But . . . Wait, what?”

“If I was still in Hell, you all would have replied with some mediocre comeback meant to incite fear of my impending doom in me.” The demon explained as it cataloged it's body parts. “Something like, 'You're worst nightmare!' Honestly demon's nowadays have no creativity.” It paused for a moment like it was thinking, then finally look between the three men. “Speaking of which, when is nowadays?”

“Uh, 2013 . . .” Dean answered, entirely confused by the situation. When he was picturing this all going down, Dean did not expect the demon to be so nonchalant about being dragged out of hell. He also did not expect the demon to be naked and somewhat attractive, but Dean wasn’t going to voice that little piece of info, knowing what horrors truly laid beneath it's exterior.

The demon suddenly look very tired as it rubbed a hand down his face. “2013, huh?” It sighed. “It felt like so much longer . . .” Sam wasn't sure if the demon had meant for them to hear that last part, but he heard it anyways.

Dean was about to cut the formalities and demand the demon tell them the names of all the rest of his kind that were on earth. If that didn't work . . . Well there was a nice arrangement of knives hanging on the side wall that would loosen it's tongue.

Dean would have done exactly that, if not for the expression on the demon's face. It's mouth was open, eyes wide and filled with panic or disbelief or both as it stared at something behind Dean. Sam and Castiel had too noticed the demon's expression and they both turned to see what it was staring at. Standing in the doorway, partially blocking out the light, was Zira, wearing the exact same expression as the demon.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Five minutes earlier Aziraphale had been perfectly content sitting in the library reading his book. He had been enjoying the silence when a terrible ratchet sounded from upstairs. Instead of investigating the noise, the angel had simply directed a slight glare in the general direction of the sound and promptly went back to reading. He would have continued with this method of attempting to guilt loud noises into being quiet, as he had so done when the customers of Intimate Books next to his own shop were a tad bit too wild, if he hadn't suddenly felt a presence. It was a demonic presence, Aziraphale had been sure, but it wasn't the same one as before. This one had been new, but at the same time familiar. 

Slowly, Aziraphale had set down his book, stood up, pulled down his jumper and then had set off cautiously towards the presence. Zira had not wanted to make a fool out of himself like last time, so he had just walked.

He hadn't even made it ten feet before his slow, cautious walk turned into a full out sprint.

All of this led up to Aziraphale standing outside the dungeon, looking in on a ghost that had strolled through his memories for years. Zira attempted to say something, attempted to do anything besides gape down at Crowley as he laid there naked. But when he opened his mouth, the only thing that could be heard was a shallow shaky attempt to breathe. 

Despite the three pairs of eyes that were currently staring Zira down, he felt himself smile. Aziraphale looked across the dungeon, expecting to see Crowley smiling right back at him, but what he saw was the complete opposite. 

Crowley looked horrified. The demon was slightly shaking his head as his mouth repeatedly formed the word, no, over and over again in a silent mantra.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked concerned as he took a step forward. This was not how he wanted their reunion to go.

Suddenly, Crowley's face took on a obviously fake smile that he struggled to keep up. “Good job, guys.” He said ruefully with undertones of fear present in his voice. “Really, you did a fantastic job . . . I nearly believed you this time.”

Dean, Sam and Castiel had been pretty confused at the beginning, but at that point, they were completely lost. Sam turned to Zira, hoping that the angel could give some insight into what was happening, but he seemed almost as lost as they were.

“I-I don't understand . . .” Zira trailed off. The smile he once had on his face had been washed off.

“Do you want to know what tipped me off?” Crowley asked, refusing to look at Zira. “Aziraphale's clothes. He was wearing those exact same clothes when I last saw him. So if you're going to do this-” Crowley gestured around to the room. “If you're going to act like I'm not in hell and have your demons come in here pretending to be Aziraphale and then have him . . .” Crowley paused and forced back the words and whatever memories were associated with them. “ . . . Well it won't work if you don't at least change his clothes first.”

“Crowley . . . I'm not . . . I'm not a demon.” Zira said, trying to sound as if his voice wasn't shaking.

“Really guys, you have him say that every time,” Crowley addressed to the three confused figures in the room, still refusing to look at Zira. “You do understand that I stopped believing that line the first couple of rounds.”

Standing over on the side of the room, Sam began to understand what was going on. He remembered how Kevin had told him about when Crowley had kidnapped him. The King of Hell had made it seem like Kevin was still on Garth's boat and would send in demons who had changed their form to look like the two hunters. Sam guessed that the demon here thought the same thing was going on. What Sam did not understand was why a high-class demon had been what sounded like held prisoner in Hell.

At around the time that Sam had, Zira came to the same conclusion. Aziraphale felt a wave of emotions overtake him. He felt angry and sad and helpless, but overall he felt oddly determined. He had waited two decades to see Crowley again and he was not going to let some servants of hell ruin that for him. 

So in a secret bunker in Kansas, inside a dungeon, the angel Aziraphale recalled all the memories he had of him and Crowley that really meant something. Their meeting in the garden, the making of the Arrangement, saving the world, their first kiss, their cottage in South Downs, all of these were stated in the ancient tongue of Angels to the demon he would fall for.

Eventually, Zira stopped. He took in a few unnecessary deep breaths and looked down at Crowley. For the first time in two decades, Aziraphale heard Crowley call him Angel. And for the first time in two decades, Aziraphale got to reply with My Dear. 

Everything was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooh, good omens Crowley is FINALLY here. I'm hoping to put out the next chapter soon, but with finals coming up, that might now happen quite yet. Thank you everyone for all the positive feedback you all have been giving. Whenever I receive a comment, I literally just walk around my room for a couple of minutes flailing my arms. I'm also going to start replying to comments because all the nice things you are all posting has made me not so terrified of social contact. Finally, thanks again for reading! :D


	5. Flick of The Wrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wasn't normally this angry at everything, it was just that the universe obviously had a vendetta against him and he just wasn't going to stand for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look a that, I finally updated! Yeah sorry guys that it took longer than a month to upload this chapter, at first it was finals keeping me from updating, but eventually it was a combo of my own laziness and tumblr . . . Anyways, thanks for all the positive feedback and I hope everyone enjoys this next chapter as well.

Everything was not all right.

Dean had expected the summoning to go something along the lines of almost every other summoning he and Sam had ever performed. First they summon the demon. Next the demon makes a snarky remark about the Winchesters. In turn, either he or Sam makes a snarky comment back. The banter will go back and forth for a bit until they get down to business and demand the demon cooperate. Like clockwork, the demon will then refuse until the promise of blessed water poured down their throat persuades the demon otherwise. With the information secured the demon is either exorcised or killed. Easy. Simple. Done.

Nowhere on the given timeline for the average demon summoning was there any open slot for whatever the hell was currently going on in their dungeon.

Standing stock still, not really sure if he should be doing something, Dean watched as Zira made some huge profound speech to the demon trapped in their dungeon. Well he assumed it was some huge profound speech as it was all in enochian. If their interrogation of the demon had been stopped for anything less than the equivalent of the Gettysburg address or the Braveheart speech, Dean was going to be pissed.

Not to say that Dean wasn't already pissed. For even before the angel made his grand appearance, the summoning had already begun it's slow descendent into the territory of the weird and confusing. However, when Zira did show up, that was when things really took a nosedive. To Dean it felt like he had been watching a movie and got up to go to the bathroom part way through and when he came back, the plot and the characters had moved on without him.

Dean hadn't even realized that Zira had stopped his speech until a phrase reached his ears that he actually understood.

“Here, let me help you, my dear.” The angel murmured softly, his voice like a warm quilt.

Without warning, Zira snapped his hand back with a crack like a bolt of lightning splitting the seams of a starless sky. Looking on with horrified fascination, Sam, Dean and Castiel watched as Zira completed the gesture by rolling his right hand forward in a fluid motion. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean registered that in time to the movement of Zira's wrist, a portion of the devil's trap on the floor was erased like an invisible boot had dragged it's heel through the paint.

As if it had been planned, the three all jumped into action at once. Sam ran towards the break in the devil's trap armed only with the red crayon from earlier as backup. Castiel rushed forward, his angel blade unsheathed and ready to stop the demon from escaping. All the while Dean came up behind Zira and grabbed onto a fistful of his sweater to haul him away from the demon who the angel was offering his hand down too.

The demon didn't seem too troubled over the efforts to keep it contained in the devil's trap, Dean noted. It just slowly lowered it's hand from where it had reached up to grab Zira's and rubbed at the back of it's neck. Dean would have looked more into the complete lack of an escape attempt on the part of the demon if he hadn't had a bigger problem concerning the angel.

Zira jerked away from Dean's hold on his sweater and quickly turned around to face the hunter. “What was that all about?” The angel said with a huff as he adjusted his clothes.

“I think I should be asking that seeing as, you know, you just tried to release a demon.” Crossing his arms, Dean took a step closer to Zira and looked down at him. “Want to explain?”

Looking as irritated as a heavenly being could be without venturing into the territory of flat out pissed off, Zira mirrored Dean's stance and narrowed his eyes at the hunter. It didn't really have the same effect seeing as Zira only barely came up to the hunter's nose. “I am letting him go seeing as he has done nothing wrong.” Zira stated indignantly as he stared up at the hunter.

“First of all, no.” Dean said shaking his head. “Second of all, hell no. You are not releasing a demon.”

Taking another step forward, Zira glanced over to the devil's trap and back up to Dean. “Are you positive about that?”

“Yes.” Dean stated with an air of finality.

Without breaking eye contact with the hunter, Zira snapped his right hand back defiantly and rolled it forward. All across the devil's trap entire sections of the circle vanished, leaving symbols half-completed and the hunters scrambling to fill in the breaks.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean growled out as he grabbed onto the front of the angel's sweater.

Even though the trap was still open, Sam and Castiel rushed over to where Dean and Zira stood, each having the knowing look they they were right and the other was wrong.

“Dean, stop.” Sam yelled as he grabbed his brother.

“Brother, don't.” Castiel ordered as he placed a hand on his Zira's shoulder.

Zira and Dean stared at each other, silently daring the other to blink first.

“Hey, umm . . .” A voice sounded from the center of the room, cutting the tension like someone taking a pair of scissors to a tightrope. “Not to interrupt whatever's going on here, but since it concerns me, sssomeone mind filling me in on what'ss going on?” Dean broke away from Sam's grasp and turned to the center of the room to see the demon still just sitting there, his voice filled with one part curiosity, two parts sarcasm and another part speech impediment.

“Oh, right, well . . .” Zira began, bringing his hands together while twiddling his thumbs. “Well you see, this is Sam Winchester-” The angel pointed out the tall hunter. “And this is his brother Dean.” Zira said a touch awkwardly. “They're both basically witchfinders who have broadened their field.”

At the term 'witchfinder' Sam turned to Dean and silently mouthed “What?” All he got as a response was a slight shrug.

“Oh and this-” Zira added as he motioned to the hand which still laid on his shoulder. “This is Castiel. He is also an angel.” At the mention of being an angel, Castiel suddenly found the tops of his shoes to be very interesting and in need of extensive examination and study. Realizing that he had accidentally and unceremoniously shoved both of his feet into his own mouth, Aziraphale tried to stutter out an apology. “Oh, I'm sorry, um . . . I didn't mean . . .”

Quickly segueing away from the awkward situation, Zira turned to the demon. “And this is Crowley.” Crowley gave a small wave. “We have been friends for quite some time now.” Zira looked like he wanted to say more, but instead just closed his mouth and smiled. He even went so far as to ignore the odd look Crowley shot at him.

“Wait, back up.” Sam interrupted the silence, looking confused. “Your name is Crowley?” He asked, while completely ignoring the bit about being friends. Sam wasn't going to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

Crowley gave him a toothy grin. “Anthony J. Crowley, yes.” He hoped none of them asked what the J stood for as he had yet to decide. Whenever he had to sign documents, earth documents that is, hell always got fussy when he didn't put down the sigil, Crowley would put down whatever he felt like it should be at that time. Sometimes it was James. Other times it was Julius. On one occasion he had convinced Aziraphale that he had decided that the J was going to stand for Judas. In Crowley's opinion, the complete look of horror on the angel's face had looked league’s better than the expressions of bored indifference most renaissance painters made angels out to have.

Looking over to Aziraphale who still had the remnants of pink flushing his cheeks, it suddenly dawned on Crowley how much he had missed his angel.

“That's great and all,” Dean said sarcastically. “But it's not your name we want.” Crowley raised a single curious eyebrow at Dean. “We need the names of all the demons on earth and you're gonna give them to us.” With his last statement, Dean glanced between the wall of torture implements and Crowley, hoping the demon got the hint.

Golden eyes bore into Dean and the hunter suddenly felt like he was being sized up; examined; hunted. However, as soon as the vestiges of something from centuries past which shed it's skin and did not blink slithered to the surface, it was replaced with laughter which filled the demon's eyes.

Crowley chuckled lightly from where he sat on the ground. “You're kidding, right?” When Dean and Sam simultaneously began to shake their heads, Crowley stopped laughing. “Oh, wow you're being serious . . .” Turning to Aziraphale for some explanation, Crowley saw that the angel looked as confused as he was. “Okay, you lot do understand that there are quite a lot of demons, right? As in, too many demons for me to the know all the names of.”

Everyone was surprised when Castiel finally spoke after spending so long in silence. “If you really are the commander of the crossroads demons which walk the earth, you should know at least know the names of them.”

“Well I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm not in charge of the crossroads.” Crowley said casually, picking at the paint of the devil's trap. “I doubt Hell would trust me enough to care for the hellhounds, in all honestly.” Crowley didn't even sound resentful of this fact, instead just presented it as another aspect of his life.

Squinting his eyes at the demon, Castiel looked like he was trying to see into Crowley's head and gaze into the truth. “If that is true, what were you doing in hell when we summoned you?” Castiel asked.

Crowley wasted no time in answering the angel's question. “Prison, basically.” He admitted, trying to seem nonchalant about the whole thing.

It was then Sam and Dean realized that they, for lack of a better term, had been played. Why they had thought that the king of hell would actually give them the right name instead of the name of just a random demon, neither knew. Ever since Castiel uttered the first syllable of the incantation, they had been screwed. The thought of it made Dean's blood boil.

Swiping a hand down his face, Dean couldn't hold back his frustration. “I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna go kill the king of hell.”

Sam, who was as equally frustrated as Dean, could only manage to halfheartedly call out as Dean strode out of the room, “Don't kill him.”

Dean wasn't going to make any promises.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“You son of a bitch.” Was the only greeting Dean gave once he threw open the door to Crowley's room.

The king of hell smirked. “Nice to see you too, darling.” He sat calmly on the bed, a chain around his foot which kept him caged with a collar to match.

“You knew.” Dean accused as he stormed over to Crowley. “You knew that the name you gave us wasn't the king of the crossroads.”

“Well yes.” Crowley said all too sarcastically and far to calmly for Dean's liking. “Wasn't going to give you the actual name, now was I?”

Dean clenched his fist. Everything lately was getting to him; the angels falling; Cas being human; Abbadon; the angel riding around in Sam like he was a freaking minivan. This had been their chance to save people instead of just messing everything up. Yet everything still manged to get fucked.

“Oh don't look so glum. This is far better than what you wanted.” The demon said knowingly. When Dean didn't ask how he had in fact helped them by lying, Crowley sighed. “See, your problem is that you're worried about getting the ants off the train tracks when you really should be concerned over the two trains speeding towards you.”

Dean looked unimpressed. “How about you take your metaphor and shove it up your ass.”

“Kinky, but I'll pass.” Crowley said with a wink while Dean resisted the urge to stab him. “What I meant is that you and that brother of yours have decided to take on the task of ridding the world of every last demon. Which frankly, is a terribly stupid idea.” Crowley admitted bluntly. “What was your plan, anyways? Even if you got the names, what were you going to do? Summon every last one to your little hole in the ground and exorcise them one by one?” Dean glowered at him, but the demon King continued. “May I remind you that while your attempting this purge, Abbadon is trying to take over Hell and Metatron has already taken over Heaven? The world is in chaos, so the last thing you should worry your little head about is a few demons.”

Looking at Crowley, Dean couldn't help but agree that he made a convincing case. He didn't want to agree with him, Crowley had already tricked them once that day. However, the sensible part of Dean conceded “Fine.” He begrudgingly let loose from lips. Crowley smiled and Dean had the feeling he had just let the King win somehow.

“I suppose you're wondering why I chose that demon in particular to give you the name of.” Crowley called as Dean started to walk out the door.

“Really couldn't care less.” Dean said, feeling tired.

“I owed him a favor, you see.” Crowley continued on, ignoring Dean's comment. “And I really don't enjoy being in people's debt.” Either Crowley didn't hear Dean mutter under his breath, 'Lannister . . .' or he really didn't care. “Also if you're serious about stopping Abbadon, you're going to need him and the angel. Trust me, they work far better together than apart.”

Dean didn't bother asking what the favor was or how he knew Zira and Crowley were some kind of wonder team, he was more concerned about something else. “Why are telling me this?” He asked, walking back towards the demon.

“Because,” Crowley began, his voice hushed and dark like he was telling a secret. “I want Abbadon's head mounted on my office wall, so if I have to literally drag demons out of hell to help you, I will.” Crowley smirked and leaned back. “Now go out and get me that head.”

Walking back to the dungeon after his talk with Crowley, Dean was contemplating just exactly how his mood could have reached these levels of pure crap. Thinking about how Crowley basically wanted them all to team up with the other Crowley and Zira to form the power rangers and defeat Abbadon just made things worse. What Crowley was thinking, the hunter had no clue. The king could send up all of hell's armies and it wouldn't make much difference. If they wanted Abbadon to be dead and stay dead, they were going to need an archangel.

“Hey, Dean!” Sam called out, rounding a corner and striding out to meet his brother in the hallway. “So I was-” Suddenly, like a tidal way, bright blue swam up from the darkness of his pupils and engulfed both his eyes in lightning. Sam was not Sam anymore. Where Dean's Sam slightly slouched, this one stood up straight and loomed over Dean like a shadow.

“Hello Dean.” Zeke said tonelessly, keeping his face passive as he came up to the hunter in the hallway. “We need to talk.”

Looking around the corridor for anyone, Dean quickly ushered Zeke into an empty room. “Hey, so what's up? Is something wrong with Sam?” Dean asked, feeling paranoid. He did not come all this way to loose his brother.

“No, Sam is fine.” Zeke assured, calming Dean's nerves. “It is Zira and Crowley I worry about. I believe their presence could be a danger here. I think it would be in everyone's best interest if they were to leave.”

Dean let out a short laugh. “Look, I don't really like them either. Hell, Zira's a passive-aggressive asshole and Crowley's a demon, but they're not really dangerous just annoying. Besides we're going to need their help in this, so I think we're stuck with them.” Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Besides, Sam and Cas seems to like Zira at least and they might-”

“Castiel must also leave.” Ezekiel interrupted.

Dean looked at the angel controlling his brother for any indication that this was a joke. He looked for a twitch of the lips, slight crinkles around the eyes. He looked for anything that meant Zeke wasn't actually saying Castiel had to leave. “You're kidding right?” Dean asked, hoping against anything that the answer was yes.

“I would not joke about such a matter.” Zeke replied with a shake of his head. “Other angels are searching for Castiel. They will eventually find him and that is a danger I cannot face.”

“What are you saying?” Dean asked, although he had a pretty good idea of what the angel meant.

“If Castiel stays, I must go.” Ezekiel admitted solemnly. “I am sorry.” The apology rang hollow in Dean's ears.

Pacing the room, Dean ran a hand through his hair as he felt his stress rising. “But if you leave, Sam will die.” Zeke didn't reply, just stood there watching as Dean felt like the world was ending. If Castiel left, the angels would find him and he would die, but if Cas stayed then Zeke would leave and Sam would die. Either way, Ezekiel was asking Dean which of the two people he cared about most in the world he wanted to see placed up on a funeral pyre to burn. He couldn’t make that decision.

“You know what,” Dean finally said, his voice gruff. “Screw this. No one's leaving and no one's dying.” Dean stopped pacing and walked over to Zeke, his face just inches from the angel's face. “Cas has that tattoo to stop angels from finding him, right?”

“Well, yes but-” Zeke began.

“So if the angels can't find him, they won't find you either.” Dean hoped beyond all reason that this was true. “Look, I get it, you're scared, but you need to stay. Nothing's gonna happen. Both Crowley's will stay locked up and no one but me even knows you're in there. You're safe. The angel's won't find you. We won't let them.” Dean knew he was just rambling at this point but he refused to stop. “Zeke, I know you're a good guy, you wouldn't have helped if you weren't, so please man, don't leave.”

Ezekiel looked conflicted. He just stood staring down at Dean, his eyebrows furrowed. “Fine.” He finally said. “But if I ever feel like the bunker has become too dangerous, I will leave. Remember that.” With those words ringing through Dean's head, the blue reentered Sam's eyes and disappeared just as quickly, leaving behind the familiar bright hazel Dean knew.

Now all Dean had to do was explain how they had teleported from the hallway to a room. Perfect.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“So you know that KGB agent we met in St.James park that one time?” Zira asked, sitting on a chair he had brought into the dungeon.

“Which one?” Crowley replied from his own chair in the closed devil's trap. Part of the deal to allow Zira to stay with Crowley in the dungeon was that the devil's trap had to remain closed. Luckily he wasn't chained down and could walk around in the confines of the trap. “The bloke who you saved his hat from blowing away?”

Aziraphale waved around his hand as if knocking the idea of the air. “No, no, no. The other one. The one that you made sure that the change in his pocket was ten pence short for the coffee he wanted to order.”

“Oh, yes, what about him?” Crowley asked idly, simply happy that he could pretend that every was back to normal. Well that and the fact that Zira had gotten him some clothes. Crowley might not have been shy, but sitting around completely naked in a cold dungeon of all places wasn't something he would do for fun on saturday nights. They had been sitting in the dungeon for half an hour, talking about all the developments that occurred over the last twenty years on earth that Zira had learned about. In all honesty it was mostly things that he had overheard on the television.

“He's president of Russia now.” Aziraphale said causally, carefully watching Crowley to gauge his reaction.

Crowley's eyebrows shot up. “Really?” He stared at the angel for a second before he began to laugh. Aziraphale loved to hear Crowley laugh. It always eventually developed into a weirdly adorable sort of hissing noise.

Neither one of them spoke about what occurred to each of them respectively over the last two decades. By turning a blind eye to what had happened then they could also ignore the fact that they were in a dungeon and that there was a collar wrapped around Crowley's neck like a pair of hands that neither of them could pry off.

“Ssso, um . . . angel?” Crowley muttered once he had stopped laughing. He was looking anywhere but Zira and was twiddling his thumbs. He had even begun to let the consonants slip off his tongue far too plentifully.

“Yes, my dear?” Zira asked softly, determined not to scare Crowley off from whatever he planned to ask.

Looking down at his hands, Crowley was silent for a few moments. “Could you make me some tea? You do remember how to make tea, right? And not just will it into existence?” Crowley challenged with a smirk.

Zira shot the demon a look. “Do you honestly think I don't remember how to boil water and put in a tea bag?” He asked dryly. The angel made no indication that he knew that asking for tea wasn't what Crowley wanted to ask and instead just let a small smile form on his lips.

Crowley shrugged his shoulders as Zira began to walk out of the room. Something in Crowley wanted to call out for Zira not to be long, but he remained silent as the angel left the dungeon. It was weird, Crowley thought. This was the first time he had been left alone since his summoning. He had been so sure that Aziraphale had been another trick, another way to break him further in hell; now seeing him leave, Crowley couldn't be so sure that this wasn't another trick. Maybe when the angel walked back in with his tea, Zira's eyes would be gouged out and the only noises would come from the endless screams that were pulled from his mouth. Maybe Aziraphale would come in and proceed to pour the scalding hot tea onto Crowley's face before stabbing him with a well hidden blade in his back pocket.

Crowley shook his head and tried to force himself to stop thinking those rancid thoughts. It was just that after two decades of earth time spent as a demon's play thing, the feeling of paranoia couldn't quite be made to vacate the area in an orderly and timely fashion.

The only thing that kept Crowley calm enough to not throw the chair he was sitting in across the room in a fit of desperation was what Aziraphale had said to him. He had said things no one else knew about. There was no way any of the demons could have found out about some of those things in the detail the angel had said them. He repeated these things to himself, over and over again until Aziraphale got back. Crowley latched onto these memories like a life buoy at sea to stop himself from falling into the inky abyss of his own mind. It was when Crowley had his golden eyes hidden behind his eyelids and was quietly repeating to himself all the things Aziraphale had said that he heard someone entering the dungeon.

“Aziraphale there is no way you made tea that fast without willing it to be.” Crowley had a smug look on his face when he opened his eyes. However, as soon he saw the person, the smug look fled Crowley’s face. It was a teenager. The kid's black hair fell partway down his forehead but not far enough down to cover the shocked look in his eye

“Who are you?” The kid asked forcefully, but Crowley could hear a slight tremble in the voice.

“Crowley, pleasure to meet you,” As the demon said this he saw the kid tense up. “And who are you?”

Crowley was suddenly faced with a kid who looked six kinds of pissed off. The demon wouldn't have said he was scared, more like slightly worried. “You killed my mom, you bastard.” The kid practically growled. Crowley didn't even get the chance to reply that no, he was one hundred positive that he never laid a hand on this kid's mother, before the kid was pulling a water bottle of from the bag on his shoulder.

Eyes widening, Crowley didn't even need to see the rosary in the bottle to know what it was. Getting up from his chair and backing away from the kid, Crowley tried to reason with him. “Wait, now you really don't want to do this, trust me.” The kid started to walk forward. “Really, take it from someone whose done this, it's messy, it's disgusting, you don’t want to see what happens.” He was getting closer. “Come on . . . Let's discuss this.” Crowley was at the edge of the devil's trap and the boy wasn't stopping.

At this point, Crowley resorted to his last option. That option involved screaming for Aziraphale. The thing about demons and celestial beings alike was that they got to decide what parts of human life they were going to keep. Most decided just to get rid of it all. No need to breath. No need to eat. No need to do anything really but go around smiting and damning things. However if someone wanted to know if Crowley were human or not, they didn't need to witness the way the demon could sleep for decades or how he forgot to breath from time to time. All anyone would need to do is listen to the sound of him yelling, because it definitely wasn't human. The thing was, Crowley didn't really know or understand the limits of the human lungs or voice box, so these body parts just performed how Crowley expected them to perform. This caused the sound of Crowley yelling to Aziraphale to hurry up and get up there cause a psychotic teenager was packing holy water sound like he was using several megaphones at once.

Crowley noted that his yelling also bought him some time as the kid was simultaneously trying to cover his ears and unscrew the lid to the water bottle. Panic filled Crowley when he realized how little time that actually meant. He knew that in a few seconds the timeline of his life would end with a little dot that read '2013 - Anthony J Crowley melted into a pile of goo because some teenager threw holy water on him'.

It was at that moment when Crowley was contemplating how awful it was going to be to die after barely half an hour of being freed from hell when the kid flew into a wall.

There was no warning. The kid was walking towards Crowley, the top finally off the of the bottle, when he suddenly arched through the air like a pin hit by a bowling ball. He crumpled against the wall and fell to the floor, the bottle of holy water silently spilling out onto the ground with him.

With the kid's graceful two seconds of flight, Aziraphale rushed into the room. “I cannot leave you alone for five minutes, now can I?!” The angel looked panicked as he hurried over to Crowley. “The water didn't splash you, did it? Oh, I didn't mean for him to hit the wall that hard, I was panicking and you were yelling like the apocalypse was coming again, and-” Zira rambled on.

“Angel, it's fine.” Crowley assured him. “If the water hit me, trust me you would know.”

“What the hell is going on?!” Someone yelled at they stormed into the dungeon. Both Crowley and Aziraphale turned to see Castiel and Dean race in.

Dean took a moment to take in them both before his eyes wandered over to Kevin's crumpled mass on the floor. Dean wasted no time to rush over to the prophet. “Kevin, oh god, Kevin.” Dean gently turned the boy over. He was unconscious, but it looked like his shoulder took the brunt of the force. Dean hadn't even known that Kevin was back. Since he had thought he had another week until Kevin was to come back to the bunker, Dean had neglected to fill Kevin in on the events that had happened over the past few days. Telling someone that you had taken in a stray british angel who had a thing for tartan and books wasn't exactly something you revealed over text. Or by calling even. Honestly in Dean's opinion, it would have been easier to just have not taken in the tartan clad angel in the first place if only to avoid the trouble of explaining the situation. Now because Dean just couldn't pick up a phone, Kevin was unconscious on the floor.

“What happened here?” Castiel was the one to ask.

“Well . . .” Aziraphale began as he twisted his hands. “You see, that boy over there was going to kill Crowley, so I . . . disarmed him . . . A little forcefully I will admit . . .”

Dean got up from beside Kevin and walked over to Aziraphale. “So you did this?” Dean asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Ah, well, yes, but-” Zira would have continued but that was when Dean punched him in the face. It was not a light punch. Dean brought his fist back and punched the angel with all the strength he had. If Aziraphale had been human, his nose would have certainly been broken. However, Aziraphale was most definitely not human and at that moment he had a combination of angelic adrenaline and the natural body structure that angels possessed inside their corporations on his side. Although Dean had punched an angel before, that angel being Castiel, Dean had been fortunate enough that Cas turned his head with the punch. Zira did not. So when Dean's fist came into contact with Aziraphale's face, it wasn't the angel's nose which gave off the sickening crack that echoed through the dungeon.

Everything was silent for a few moments. It was like the calm before the storm. Dean looked down at his hand for a few seconds before exploding. “Oh shit! Oh fuck you broke my hand!” Dean yelled at Zira as he clutched onto his right hand.

Aziraphale felt like pointing out that really Dean broke his own hand on Zira's face would not be an appreciated comment, so he remained silent. He watched as Castiel gingerly picked up the boy and walked out of the dungeon with Dean without saying another word to Zira or Crowley. Only when neither being could hear the expletives booming from Dean's mouth did either of them speak.

“I see you didn't bring my tea.” Crowley commented, trying to lighten the mood.

Aziraphale turned and gave him a weak glare. “Oh, be quiet. All their teabags are from the 1940's and I couldn't even find a kettle.” Aziraphale went over and slumped down into his chair, the unsettling quiet returning to the dungeon.

“Hey so angel?” Crowley called out as he too sat back down in his chair. “Since I nearly just died, I feel like I've won the right to ask you something.”

Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes. “If the question is about me going out to buy you tea, the answer is no.” He said tiredly.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Crowley assured. “Well, it's just . . .” At the nervousness that emerged in Crowley's voice, Zira sat up curiously and carefully watched Crowley. “I was wondering, earlier when you were introducing me, you said . . .” Crowley fumbled over his words. “Well you said we're friends.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley waiting for him to continue, but when the demon looked at Zira expectantly for an answer, he realized that was all Crowley was going to say. “Well yes, and?”

A look of hurt flashed across Crowley's golden eyes which Zira couldn't figure out how he caused. “Okay, just making sure we we're on the same page.” Crowley said even though Aziraphale was pretty sure they weren't even reading the same book at that point. “I mean, things do change after two decades and we we're only together for like a year and I mean that's nothing compared to all the time we spent as enemies so-”

“Wait, wait, wait, is this what you were pouting about earlier?” Aziraphale interrupted Crowley's rambling, not believing what he was implying.

“I wasn't pouting.” Crowley said with an obvious pout. “I am a demon. We don't pout.”

Aziraphale gave a sympathetic smile. “Of course not, my dear.” When Zira saw that Crowley was still moping, he let out a sigh. “Do you want to know why I told the Winchesters that we are good friends?” Crowley didn't say anything, so Aziraphale continued. “I told them that because we are good friends. You're my best friend,” Aziraphale paused for a moment “but that doesn’t mean I don't love you.”

The black of Crowley's pupils widened a fraction. “But you said-”

“I said that because if you recall we are both in male-looking corporations and not everyone approves of that.” Zira explained. “This is not like before where if someone disagreed we could just go on with everything and not have to worry. We are both stuck here and we most certainly do not need to give them any more reasons for them not to like us. Besides,” Aziraphale continued, determined to make sure Crowley understood. “They obviously don't like demons and as you saw, Dean isn't quite fond of me. I highly doubt they would appreciate an angel and a demon together.”

When Aziraphale stopped talking, he couldn't have been more pleased to see a grin taking the place of the pout on Crowley's face. Zira could never deny Crowley anything when he began to pout. “So are we okay now, dear?” Aziraphale asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course, angel.” With that, Aziraphale got up from his chair and slowly made his way across the boundary of the devil's trap. Once he was close enough to count the dark flecks in Crowley's eyes, he leaned down and pressed their lips together for the first time in two decades. It still felt the same after all that time. Aziraphale's lips were still chapped and Crowley's mouth still tasted of butterscotch for a reason that neither of could figure out. While their lips slowly moved against each other, Crowley reached up and put his hands around the back of Zira's neck to gently tug him down into his lap. Once Aziraphale was situated, the demon pulled back slightly and gazed into Zira's eyes. “But I do think you're wrong though.” He commented with a smirk and a quick nip to the angel's lip

Furrowing his eyebrows, Zira gave Crowley a confused look. “How so?”

The demon grinned. “They won't care about us being together because that Dean Winchester obviously wants to jump Castiel's bones.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sputtered as he tipped back slightly, the demon's hands on his back the only thing keeping him from falling. “That is not appropriate!” Zira paused for a moment, before quickly saying, “I'll wager that if Castiel and Dean do have other than platonic feelings for one another, they won't admit til after Christmas.”

Crowley pondered this for a second. “What month is it now?”

“Errm . . . May, I think . . .” Aziraphale hoped this was true. He hadn't actually bothered asking anyone since he got to earth.

Looking very pleased, Crowley leaned closer until their noses were almost touching. “When I win, you'll have to buy me dinner.” He whispered.

Aziraphale smiled in response. “Shall we seal the deal, then?” He asked playfully. When Crowley leaned back in to kiss him, Aziraphale's main thought was how he was definitely going to win. There was no way he and Crowley were still even going to be at the bunker when Christmas came around. By then, he and Crowley would be back in England and Dean and Castiel would still be silently watching each other from across the bunker, Aziraphale was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is partly dedicated to the stupid plan of getting all the demon names, because even when watching the show, I was just sitting there wondering what the crap they were thinking. Well, anyways, yes I know there was a sad lack of Sam and Cas in this chapter, but fear not, in the upcoming chapters they are way more prominent. I am actually really looking forward to the next chapters seeing as they're going to start dealing with Dean and Cas' relationship, Gadreel hiding himself from the others, the feud between Dean and Zira and a host of other things. Anyways, thanks for reading :)


	6. All Dead, All Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is honestly sick and tired of angels lying to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK! Yes after five months of nothingness I have finally updated my story. I feel very bad about leaving the story for so long, but with school work, my first job and my crippling fear that I would somehow ruin the story before the ending, the idea of writing was very off putting. However now with the Good Omens radio show coming up, I have felt really motivated to actually finish this chapter which has been sitting on my desktop for months. After this chapter I am determined to actually update on a regular schedule and hopefully and can get the next chapter done before I go back to school on Monday, but no promises. I really hope everyone enjoys the chapter and thank you all for your patience! :)

Dean always hated when it was quiet. He had learned through years of hunting that silence equalled death. It was never good when they were stalking some beast through a forest or graveyard or any other forsaken place where monsters liked to roam and it would suddenly get quiet. Noise meant that they knew where the thing was. A crackle of leaves underfoot, a sway of a branch, the heavy intake of breath, the crunch of bone, they all meant that whatever they were hunting was nearby. Silence however, was a sign that they had lost the advantage, that the thing could be anywhere. Dean had taken this aversion to silence past the life of hunting though. In the car he would blare his music until he could feel the heavy beat of the drums thrumming against his bones hours after he had shut it off. In motel rooms, the sound of Sam breathing in the next bed over, the dull roar of the A/C and the creaking of the mattress as he moved kept Dean from staring at the cracks in the ceiling til dawn.

Noise equalled life. 

With all of this, the lack of sound in the kitchen should have set off every warning flag Dean had in him. He and Cas were sitting in the bunker's kitchen. The overwhelming silence interspersed with the subtle crinkle of bandages as they were wrapped around his hand being the only noise. Dean usually would have found it uncomfortable, would have usually done something to do away with the quiet. However, this time the silence was welcome. Cas sat next to him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he continued to wrap Dean's broken hand. There was nothing to say and Dean was fine with that. It gave him time to think.

Many things swirled through Dean's mind. Some thoughts drifted past, just a wavering idea that got no more than a moment's consideration. They were out of bread. Was the new movie about the giant robots fighting the giant monsters out yet? The supply of rock salt was getting pretty low, could he buy that in town? Where could he get a cheap ping-pong table?

Other thoughts clung to Dean's mind and refused to be swept away with the stream of ideas. The main thought that had dug it's claws into his brain concerned Zira and Crowley. A part of him reasoned that they were both dangerous. Dean fully believed that if it came down to it, both of them would pick the other before anyone else seeing as some past camaraderie held them together in a bond that far outweighed whatever friendship anyone at the bunker had forged with Zira. That part voted that both angel and demon should be separated and locked up, kicked out of the bunker even. The other part of Dean argued that his own broken hand proved that doing anything to Zira and Crowley that they didn’t want would end badly for all involved. Either way ended in blood.

With a final snip at the bandages incasing Dean's hand, Cas looked up with a satisfied smile. “I believe this will be adequate until you can get proper medical attention.”

Dean just nodded. “Yeah, thanks Cas.” He said absentmindedly. He didn't even notice Cas squint his eyes and tilt his head. 

“Dean, are you unwell?” Castiel asked, pressing the palm of his hand to Dean's forehead in a motion that the hunter was pretty positive that Cas didn't know the purpose of. He had to stop watching Dr. Sexy when Cas was in the room.

Jerking away from the cool touch of Castiel's hand, Dean brought himself back from his thoughts. “Yeah, I'm fine Cas. Just . . .” Dean trailed off. “Just thinking.”

Castiel stared intently at him and for just for a second, Dean was sure that Cas was staring at his soul. “I do wish I could do more to help you.” Cas said, looking as if this was his own fault. “Everything was far easier when I was able to heal you.”

Dean didn't know what to say. This was getting far too close to emotions and memories that were still blistering and raw and close to the surface. Cas had lost almost everything just three weeks ago. His home was out of reach and the only time his siblings would stop fighting amongst themselves was when they were trying to kill him. The very thing Castiel was at his core was ripped from him. These were not things that could be mended with a quick pat on the back and a 'Hang in there buddy'. No matter how much Dean wanted Cas to stop hurting, he feared any attempt at making the former angel feel better would only make things worse. 

During the silence, Dean hadn't realized how close his own face and Castiel's had gotten. They had been sitting close together while Cas tended to Dean's hand, but somehow they managed to get even closer still. Although Cas was looking anywhere but at him, Dean could still see all the familiar features of Castiel's face, hear the tiny exhales of his breath, feel the edge of his coat . . .

“Hey, guys.” Sam said as he walked into the kitchen. 

As if someone had placed a pin where he sat, Dean leapt up from beside Cas. “Hey, Sam. How's it going? How's Kevin?” Dean said in feigned nonchalance.

Sam looked from Dean to Cas and then back to Dean, trying to piece together what had happened before he entered the room. “Um, nothing much.” Sam offered as he sat down at the table. “Kevin's asleep right now. I think he should be fine, a little bruised, but fine.”

Cas and Dean both nodded. “Good, that's good.” Dean said, sitting back down in his chair although noticeably farther away from Cas than before.

It once again became silent in the kitchen, however this time the silence was an unwelcome guest which needed to pack it's bags and get the hell out of dodge.

“There is something I have been meaning to tell you.” Castiel began, breaking the quiet. “It concerns Zira.” The mention of the angel peaked both Sam and Dean's interest. Leaning forward, both brothers looked pensive. “I did not want to mention it at first. I was unsure whether or not my suspicion was true and it was not my intention to accuse my brother of something he is not guilty of.” Castiel paused for a moment and looked between the two brothers. “He is not who he says he is.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure you're going to be alright here by yourself?” Aziraphale asked for at least the fifth time. Crowley was close to just kicking him out the door.

“Yes, angel. I think I can handle your absence for two hours.”

Aziraphale still looked nervous. Fidgeting his hands, tugging down on his shirt, he looked like he leaving Crowley for years.

Crowley brushed away the fact that Aziraphale had left him for years.

“I'll try and be as fast as possible.” Aziraphale repeated. “All I need to do is go into town and look into some possible angel sightings, won't take long at all. I would stay if I could, but Castiel asked me to go and after what happened a few days ago . . .” Aziraphale gave a small glance over to the corner of the room where the prophet boy had been flung. “Well I just believe that I owe them a favor.”

Crowley tried to shoo Aziraphale away with a wave of his hand, ignoring the slight ring of the metal as his chains clanked together in an ominous reminder of their situation. “Go on angel, go make sure that your lot isn't messing things up too badly. I'll still be here when you get back.” 

Smiling, Aziraphale leaned down and gave Crowley a small peck on the cheek. “I'll be back soon, my dear.” 

The sound of the dungeon door shutting left Crowley feeling rather lonely, a tad bit bored and overall contemplative. It was never good when Crowley was contemplative. When Crowley got into that particularly mindset, thoughts such as “What would happen if E.T had a video game?” or “That Howard The duck comic, someone should make that into a movie.” would cross his mind. Aziraphale always said that Crowley caused some of the worst evil when he was contemplative. Crowley had to agree. Except now he was in a new century with new quirks and peeves. He had no idea what made people boil over and exact revenge in those little petty ways. He would have to brush up on the twenty first century when Aziraphale got back, see what was wrong in the world and find those ways to exploit it.

It occurred to Crowley that he didn't need to cause sin anymore. If Hell was going to have problem with him, it wasn't going to be because he was falling behind on his monthly quota.

Crowley didn't want to think about that though. He didn't want to think about Hastur's face when he realized that Crowley was gone from his cell, didn’t want to think about how Hastur might already be completely aware that he was gone, how Hell could be looking for him as he sat helpless in the Winchester's dungeon.

Letting out a sound that was a spawn between a groan and a growl, Crowley plucked a book up from beside his chair and began to read. “God gave a loaf to every bird but just a crumb to me.” Crowley read off the random page he had flipped to. He nearly threw down the book in frustration. Dickinson. The only book in reach just had to be a collection of Emily Dickinson poems, didn't it? Glancing around the room, Crowley saw that all the other books were stacked up next to Aziraphale's chair. He should have asked the angel to move the only other source of entertainment before he had left. Crowley sighed and flipped to the beginning of the book. If he was going to be alone for two hours he was determined to not get bored.

One hour and one-hundred and fifty seven pages of nineteenth century poetry later, the dungeon door greeted Crowley with a creaking he had come to know over his days of captivity. He didn't even need to look up to know that it wasn't Aziraphale; He always announced his presence to Crowley far before he even got to the shelves. Glancing up, Crowley saw Sam and Dean practically swagger in, knives on their hips and frowns on their faces.

“Crowley.” Sam said, standing well outside the devils' trap.

The demon looked back down to his book “I envy seas whereon he rides,” Crowley began, reading the words as if he himself was the only one in the room. “I envy spokes of wheels of chariots that him convey,” He chanced a subtle glance up. Dean's jaw was clenched and Crowley spotted a distinctive eye roll too. Good, they were annoyed. Reading poetry wasn't exactly what Crowley deemed 'Friday night fun' and pestering the Winchesters was far more entertaining. “I envy speechless hill-”

“Crowley”

“That gaze upon his journey; How easy all-”

“Stop.”

“See what is forbidden utterly as-”

Dean took a step, powerful and angry inside the circle. “Shut up.” He ordered.

Crowley smiled and finally looked up from his book. “ . . . Heaven, unto me.” Snapping the covers together, Crowley set the poetry next to him and folded his hands in his lap. “This was all a setup, wasn't it?” He said calmly, deciding not to beat around the bush.

Dean and Sam shared a quick look. After a second of silent communication, Dean looked back to Crowley and nodded 

“And sending Zira into town for the rogue angels, that was a lie. There were no angel sightings.” It wasn't a question. As soon as Dean and Sam had come in, Crowley had realized he had been tricked. In the past three days since the prophet kid tried to melt him, Crowley had not received a single visitor besides Aziraphale. The fact that Crowley was suddenly popular among the residents of the bunker only when the angel was no longer with him was something to be concerned about. “You sent him out so that I would be alone and you could come in here without worrying that Zira would smite you.”

If Crowley didn't know any better, he would have said that Dean looked impressed. “Well you seem to be caught up.” Dean said as he swung a chair around, sitting backwards so that his uninjured arm rested against the back of the chair, the other wrapped near his chest. Crowley would have commented on his obvious disposition to sitting normally, but Sam cut in before he had the chance to get even one sarcastic word out. 

“So what do you know about Abaddon?” Sam asked.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Abaddon? Why do you want to know about Abaddon? And more importantly, why do you think I would know anything about her?”

“Funny you should ask.” Dean said in a way that made it apparent that it wasn't funny at all. “Because Cas was telling us the other day an interesting fact about you.”

“Was it that I'm a demon, because that's not exactly a secret.”

Dean ignored Crowley's comment and continued. “He said that you were the serpent of Eden.” Crowley nearly blanched at the lack of subtlety that Dean possessed. If Crowley's approach had been to not beat around the bush, Dean's method could appropriately be described as burning the bush the ground, wildlife be damned.

“Well,” Crowley said plainly, not looking nearly as defensive as Sam and Dean had hoped. “He's not wrong.”

Crowley recognized the look in Dean's eye. It was the look of someone who wanted to see how much they could get, to see if they really could get a mile out of an inch. “Cas also told us something interesting about Zira. He said that he was the guardian of Eden, an infamous one at that whose name is actually Aziraphale. Is that all true?”

“Yep.” Crowley said with a distinct pop of the p. “One of them anyways.”

If Crowley had to describe both Sam and Dean's faces with a single word, that word would have been confused. It seemed like Crowley's cooperation puzzled them far more than his answers, as if they had expected threats and curses and promises to never give up the information despite whatever pain they may bring. Crowley knew denying anything was pointless. The Winchesters obviously knew the answers to the questions they were asking. Even if Crowley denied everything they were saying, it wasn't as if they would believe the word of a demon over the word of their angel.

Sam took a step forward. “So what do you know about Abaddon?”

As he spoke, Crowley noticed that Sam was blatantly refusing to look at him in the eye. Crowley smiled and made a point to not blink. “Not much. She's a demon. She's scary. I don't want to mess with her. That's all I need to know.”

“But you were one of the first demons.” Sam countered. “You're older than Abaddon. Shouldn't you know something else about her?”

Shrugging, Crowley was about to argue with the fact that he had never actually met Abaddon when once again the entrance to the dungeon burst open with a creak and a groan. It was the prophet boy again, Karl or Kyle or Keith or something. He looked slightly worried, hair ruffled from where he must have ran his hands through it and eyes wide.

“Kevin, what's wrong?” Dean asked, getting up and taking a step back from Crowley and focusing instead on the boy. Kevin! His name was Kevin, Crowley had been so close.

Giving a nervous glance in Crowley's direction, Kevin looked torn. “I was listening to the police scanner, I think you should come listen.” 

Apparently that was all either Dean or Sam needed as they both headed for the door. “We're not finished here.” Dean called through the shelving as he shut the entrance.

Sighing, Crowley picked up his book. If Aziraphale ever had to go out again, Crowley was going to make him put a radio in the dungeon first; Dickinson did not provide ample entertainment. Alone again, he began to read out loud to fill the hollow space left in the dungeon. “I envy nests of sparrows . . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“So I was listening to the police scanner while I was trying to translate the tablet,” Kevin explained as they walked into the vast open area of the bunker's main room. “and then I heard this.”

Kevin pressed a button on a small tape recorder and a woman's voice, gravelly and full of static, started up. “Officer can you repeat that?”

Another voice replied, this time a man's, replied. “ . . .The bodies are gone. Vanished. They were here just a minute ago, I swear. Now they're all gone . . .” 

Kevin paused the recording. “That was only the last bit of it. I didn't start recording until he said about the missing bodies the first time but from what I heard before I started recording there was a call to the police about a huge fight breaking out at a gas station in town. When the police got to the station, the bodies were there and then they weren't.” Kevin shrugged slightly. “Seemed like our kind of thing.”

Sam nodded. “Has anyone called Zira? I let him borrow my phone before he left, he might know something.”

“I tried calling him.” Kevin said, his voice tinged with slight loathing about having to call the angel. Sam didn't miss the way Kevin rubbed at his still bruised shoulder when he mentioned Zira. “He didn't pick up.”

Dean scoffed. “He probably doesn't even know how to use a phone . . .”

Ignoring his brothers comment, Sam continued. “We'll need to go into town to check it out.”

“Slight problem,” Dean began. “Lebanon isn't exactly New York City; It's only got about two-hundred people. It's not like we've never been into town before, don't you think that if we go in there saying were FBI or something we'll get recognized?”

Seeing the logic behind Dean's argument, Sam ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Then what are we going to do?”

Next to them, neither Dean or Sam saw Kevin start smiling. If they had they might of realized that he had an idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello I'm George Targaryen and this is Martin Lannister, we're reporters from the Kansas Inquirer.” Kevin said as stood outside the gas station, a suit that was too large and too old fashioned for him, hanging over his frame. Next to him was Castiel wearing his regular trench coat and holding a pen more like a blade than a writing utensil.

The police officer, a middle aged man whose biggest break was most likely finding out who spray painted the post officer, looked utterly and thoroughly confused. “Um, did you say you were from the Kansas Inquirer?” Kevin nodded. “I've never even heard of that paper before.”

Quickly writing something down on a small notebook he had brought, Kevin nearly smiled when the police officer began to actually look scared.

“Wait, what are you writing down?” The cop asked, fidgeting his hands as he did so.

Kevin didn't even glance up from his pad. “Just some details about you for the story. What did you say your name was?”

“Jackson. Officer Jackson.”

Finally snapping the notebook closed, Kevin tucked it away in his pocket. “So Officer Jackson, can you show us around the crime scene, tell us about what happened?”

The officer absentmindedly chewed on the end of a pen. “Um, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to show any reporters around the crime scene yet . . .” As he spoke, a little bit of the ink spurted from the pen and left a blue stain on the corner of Officer Jackson's mouth. He didn't notice. “I mean, the crime did only happen twenty minutes ago. We still need to sweep the area and collect testimonies and-” The officer paused and for the first time since Kevin and Cas had arrived, he actually seemed intimidating. “How did you already know about the incident? We haven't released any statements to the press about this even happening yet.”

For a second a look of panic went across Kevin's face but he quickly swept it under an air of professionalism. “News travels fast.” 

The officer did not look convinced and began to reach down towards his walkie.

Well crap, Kevin thought as he glanced around. They had probably just become suspects in some weird body snatching ring.

“How do you spell incompetent?”

The question had come out of nowhere and both the officer and Kevin stopped and turned toward Cas. He was standing next to a gas pump, notepad in one hand and a pen hovering over the paper in the other.

“What?” Officer Jackson asked, confused. 

“Incompetent- How do you spell it?” Castiel asked again. “As in 'The officer at the crime scene was incompetent and began to question reporters on how they knew about the biggest story this town has seen in years.” 

Officer Jackson sputtered and turned a bright shade of red. Kevin just turned away from the two and tried to hold in his laughter.

Once Kevin regained just a thread of his composure he turned back to Castiel. “I believe it's spelled i n c o-”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Officer Jackson interrupted. Castiel stopped writing and Kevin could of sworn he looked smug. “Look, I guess I could show you around the scene and tell you what we know. Just don't touch anything.”

With that, the officer led Kevin and Castiel under the bright yellow police tape. When Officer Jackson wasn't looking, Cas gave Kevin a small thumbs up and a cheesy grin. “Where did that come from?” Kevin asked in a whisper.

Castiel leaned in. “I once saw someone do something similar on a television show.” Kevin just smiled at this response. He needed to hang out with Cas more.

Kevin immediately stopped smiling when he stepped inside the gas station. Shards of broken glass reflected his face back up at him in jagged pieces of eyes and noses and downturned mouths. It was like a broken hall of mirrors. Scattered across the floor were bags of food, most looked crushed and others had shoe prints marring their packaging. The smell of something, almost like smoke but with an underlying hint of something else, lingered in the air. Kevin couldn't see that anything was actually burnt and had no idea what the smell was or where it was coming from. In the corner, a motorized hotdog sign spun round and round undisturbed despite the small trails of blood which ran down the hard plastic. Several police officers were around the store cataloguing evidence and taking photos. No one was speaking.

“We got a call in saying there was a fight breaking out at the gas station.” Officer Jackson explained as they surveyed the mess. “I was the first officer on the scene and when I got here, there were six bodies scattered around the store. Most looked to be about in their thirties. The oldest was probably around sixty. The youngest . . .” The officer paused and looked to the ground. “ . . . Six. A little girl no older than six dead on the floor. We don't even have her body to give to her parents. Hell, we don't even know who her parents are . . .”

The gas station suddenly seemed like a very isolated and cold place. The entire time Kevin had been concentrating on the monster, trying to figure out what kind of creature would steal bodies or how to cover it up to the police. The fact that there had been real people who had died not even thirty minutes before in the same room that Kevin was standing in sent chills slithering down his back. Those had been people with jobs and families and dreams. Now they were dead. Kevin felt like he should say something, anything to bear the burden of the dead. 

It was then in the moment of solemn silence that Kevin's phone went off, blaring the Star Wars theme song.

“Sorry, sorry.” Kevin mumbled out as the officers all glared at him. Finally after fumbling to get his phone out of his suit, he answered the call and made his way over to the other side of the room. “Hello?”

“Hey Kevin, how's it going?” Dean said. In the background Kevin could hear the faint strums of electric guitars and drums.

“Everything’s fine Dean.” Kevin nearly rolled his eyes at Dean's inability to just stay back and let other people work. “We're looking around the crime scene now.”

“Have you interviewed the witnesses? Oh and is there any security footage? See if there's any footage. If there is, steal it but don't be obvious about it. And make sure Cas doesn't-” 

Kevin hit the end button and slid the phone back into his pocket. Dean needed to calm down.

Walking back over to the others, Kevin didn't even get halfway there before his phone began to ring again. This time, Kevin didn't even bother to walk somewhere more private. “Dean, we have everything under control. Just-”

“Um, excuse me?” It was a woman's voice. A woman's voice he did not recognize.

Kevin looked down at the caller I.D and saw that the number was Sam's. “Who is this?” Kevin asked as he motioned for Cas to come over to where he was standing.

“Oh I'm sorry, you're friend asked me to call you. Zira, I think his name was.” The woman explained, her voice silvery and sweet. 

Taking his mouth away from the receiver, Kevin whispered over to Cas. “She say's that she's calling for Zira.” Bringing the phone closer to his mouth, Kevin couldn't help but feel confused about why a stranger was calling and not Zira. “Do you mind me asking where he is?” Kevin asked cautiously.

The woman's laugh reminded Kevin of small bells. “Oh he's just gone to get something. He asked me to call as he didn't actually know how to use a phone, the poor thing.” The woman paused and it sounded like she had placed her hand over the receiver just as Kevin had done. “Hold on a second, here he is now.”

Kevin didn't particularly want to talk to Zira, so he handed the phone to Cas but not before putting it on speaker. They were far enough way from the distracted police officers to not have to worry about eavesdroppers. 

There was a few seconds of muffled movement before they actually heard something on the other end. Someone was breathing very heavily, it sounded like each breath was planned and calculated. 

It sounded like they were hurt. 

After a few more seconds of breathing, Cas and Kevin suddenly heard a sound- slick and wet and heavy- echo over the phone followed by a buzz like static and a scream.

Zira's scream.

The woman came back over the phone, her light and airy voice replaced with a cold and dangerous one. “Here's the deal, you're going to bring us the King or never see your angel again. Your choice.” The line went dead but not before another scream pierced the static of the phone.

Standing unmoving in the gas station and staring down at the phone, Kevin could finally place what the smell was that had made it's home in the store.

It was sulfur.

Aziraphale had been kidnapped by demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am jerk. I don't update for months then leave it on a cliffhanger. Luckily I am really excited to write the next chapter and hopefully I can get it out soon. The next few chapters have a lot of action and I'm excited to see where it goes and to see how many Game of Thrones references I can shove into this story. I also discovered that I have been spelling Abaddon's name wrong for several chapters, so that's fun too. Thanks so much for reading and I hope I didn't disappoint anyone after five months of waiting.


	7. Save Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was Sam looking forward to telling Crowley that Aziraphale had been kidnapped by demons? To put it plain and simple: Hell no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After listening to the last of the Good Omens radio series today, I felt the need to update. So here you go! Just to tell you all now, this is a rather long chapter. I could of ended earlier on a cliffhanger, but after the last one I left you all on, I decided that might not be the best idea. Hope you all enjoy and thank you all for the lovely comments you're leaving!

Sam had never had such a distinct and powerful urge not to go into the dungeon. Even when the King of the damned himself sat chained on his mock-throne just beyond the metal shelves, Sam had not felt even the least bit of trepidation. But now . . .

“Come on, Sammy.” Dean said cheekily as gave him a slap on the back. “You lost fair and square. You have do it.”

“I only lost because you decided to not pick scissors for the first time in two decades,” Sam muttered. In retrospect, using Rock-Paper-Scissors to decide who was going to tell Crowley about what had happened was not the best decision. Sam even wondered if it was best decision telling Crowley at all. The only way he could even rationalize the idea in the slightest was because they needed to gain Crowley's trust. Although he might not know about Abaddon, Sam was sure that Crowley was an untapped wealth of info on demons. If torture wasn't a viable option, then maybe getting Crowley to somewhat trust them was the best way to go. That didn't mean Sam wanted to be the one to tell him though. In fact, there was multitude of things he would rather be doing than telling Crowley that they might have accidentally gotten Aziraphale kidnapped, which included activities like getting his hair cut, watching Dean and Cas stare longingly at each other from across the room or even listen to Kevin describe his health issues. However the game had already been played and Sam could not back out. He was the one who suggested that they tell Crowley what had happened to Zira, anyways. It was only fair that he be the one who was the bearer of bad news.

In the same fashion that he used to pull off bandaids, Sam opened the door with a cautionary slowness as if he hoped that whatever lie on the other side would just disappear. When the door was finally opened, Sam saw that Crowley was still sitting in the center of the room reading his book. There was a brief moment where the younger Winchester considered asking Crowley to give him the book before he told him the news. He really didn't feel like getting a rather large volume of Emily Dickinson poems chucked at his face.

“Oh you're back. What a joy,” Crowley said in the most monotone voice possibly. “If you're here to ask about Abaddon again, I didn't magically learn anything new about her in the hour you were gone.”

Sighing, Sam ran a hand through his hair. “No, that's not what we're here about.” He hated to be the one who brought bad news. It didn't even matter that his feelings for the demon were a lot less than friendly. The fact of the matter was, Crowley obviously liked Aziraphale in some shape or form. Sam had no idea how he was going to react to the news. “Look, something happened in town and we felt that you should know.”

Sam did not miss the way the black slits of Crowley's eyes widened a fraction. “Well it's nice to know that even when I'm locked up in your dungeon, you find it pertinent to keep me updated. So what's the news?” Crowley asked, trying to be nonchalant while his facade began to crack.

Glancing towards Dean, Sam saw his brother nod in a silent gesture to just get on with it. He took a deep breath. “Aziraphale has been kidnapped. By demons,” He quickly added on to the end. “They want to do a trade. Aziraphale for the King of hell.”

It was silent. Crowley did not even move, just looked up at them with the same exact expression. Yellow eyes peered at Sam with a blank look that he could not decipher. Oh god they broke him, Sam couldn't help but think. They broke the serpent of Eden.

“Yeah, right.”

Sam didn't even realize that Crowley had spoken for a second and even when he did, he didn't comprehend what had been said. “What?” Sam asked, turning back to Dean for some kind of clue to what was going on. Dean just shrugged. They had expected a tad bit larger reaction than what the demon had supplied.

Crowley set down his book. “You're telling me that the first time Zira goes out, which let me remind you that you tricked him into doing, he just happens to get kidnapped? To make matters more interesting, you had him to go into town so you could ask me about Abaddon and now that I've told you that I don't know anything, you're telling me that he has been kidnapped?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Isn't that just a weird coincidence? Oh and let me guess, if I tell you something about Abaddon, you'll save him right?” The sarcasm slipping out of Crowley’s mouth and infecting the room was lethal. “Not to mention the fact that he has supposedly been kidnapped in order to do a trade for the King of Hell. Are you honestly expecting me to believe that you have the ruler of Hell just locked up in here somewhere?

Sam really didn't know what to do for a second. “Well . . . Yeah . . .” He finally said. Now that they had gotten to the levels of infamy where most demons wouldn't question that they actually had the King of Hell locked up, it was the weirdest thing to have Crowley sitting there probably wondering whether or not they could take down a simple ghost.

“Dude you have serious trust issues,” Dean pipped up from the behind Sam. “First it was that we were secretly demons, now it's that we're lying about Zira getting kidnapped to blackmail you. You need to calm down.”

Gesturing to himself, Crowley looked one-hundred percent done with the conversation. “Demon, remember? Don't exactly have the tendency to trust people.”

Sam almost commented on the fact that Crowley obviously trusted Aziraphale, but he held his tongue. There was no need to state the obvious.

“You know what?” Dean said, somehow looking even more done with the conversation than Crowley. “I couldn't care less if you believe us or not. Doesn't change the fact that the dude you claim to be friends with is being tortured right now. And while I might not like Zira, personally I think he's a passive-aggressive douche, I'm not going to let a guy be kidnapped by demon scumbags who are no better than you.” Walking out of the dungeon, Dean called back behind him. “Have fun reading poetry.”

It took all of eight seconds for the Crowley to snap. “Wait!” His voice no longer held that air of sarcasm or disdain. He sounded scared, his voice shaking slightly and tone pleading. Sam and Dean turned around to see Crowley standing up in the devil's trap, the thick metal bands pressing against his neck and wrists and discoloring the surrounding flesh. “You're really not lying, are you? Zira really is endanger?” Sam nodded and Crowley's facade officially went tumbling down. “You have to let me come with you!” Crowley pleaded, the yellow of his eyes slowly being swallowed by black.

Dean looked at the demon like he had just asked for the sun, the stars and the moon all in one go. “Not a chance.” He said and Sam didn't even think to argue. They weren't going to let the serpent of eden just wander around with them.

“If you go in there without me, not only is Aziraphale doomed, but you all as well!” Crowley exclaimed, looking partially angry, partially terrified. The metal band around his neck was so tight at that point it looked like it was going to break the skin.

“We've handled demons before. These won't be any different.” Sam explained. They had taken on Lucifer himself, if Crowley didn't think that they could handle a couple of demons then Sam didn't even know what to say. “We've already tracked Aziraphale to an old hospital a few miles outside of town with the GPS on the phone we lent him. It should take an hour tops to rescue him.”

“You will be slaughtered.” With every word Crowley struggled to move towards the brothers. “These demons managed to capture a Principality, that's no easy task. They either have a few extremely powerful demons or a lot of regular ones. Either way you won't be able to save him without me.”

Although Crowley's argument had wormed it's way into Sam's mind and was beginning to make sense, some small part of him, a quiet voice in his mind, urged him not to give into the temptation. He was the serpent of Eden after all. He caused the fall of man. He ruined humans. He ruined everything. 

“I think we'll be good.” Dean said casually, turning around to walk back out the door as he did.

Sam saw the look in Crowley's eyes and wasn't all that surprised when he made one last ditch effort to sway them. “What if it was your angel?”

Dean stopped dead.

“What if it was your angel who had been captured and was being tortured.” Crowley continued on, trying to gain some control of the situation. Dean just stood in the doorway, unmoving. “If you knew that double-crossing or betraying anyone would ensure your angel's death, would you even think of it? Wouldn't you do anything to save him?”

Dean made a slow turn on his heels and stared down Crowley with a blank look.

“If you let me go and save my angel, I'll tell you everything I know about demons. I'll . . .” Crowley paused for a moment as if to think about what exactly he had to bargain with. “I'll heal your hand. There's no way you can go into a fight with your dominant hand broken, now can you?”

“I'll be fine. We don't need your help.” Dean finally muttered, rubbing his broken hand as he said so.

However for Sam, the argument Crowley made had officially won over with the mention of his brother's hand. “Dean he has a point.” The look the older Winchester shot him was one of betrayal, but Sam ignored it. Turning to Crowley, he had to ensure he was making the right decision. “If we let you out and you betray us, we will summon you back here and I can promise you now that no one, not even Aziraphale, will be able to save you.”

Crowley actually gave a thumbs up at the threat. “Yeah, yeah. Great. Fantastic. I agree to the terms and conditions. Now let me out so we can go save Zira.”

Hesitantly, he stepped inside the devil's trap and watched as Crowley held out a hand for him to unclasp his binding. With the first chain removed, Sam nearly flinched at the sight of the skin underneath. Red and angry, it looked like someone had taken a branding iron to his skin. Crowley didn't even seem to notice the burns. He just stayed eerily still as Sam undid all of his bindings. When the final chain fell to the floor with a clatter which echoed around the dungeon, Crowley craned his neck, stretched his arms and popped his back all in a fashion which human bodies should not be able to do. It looked like if someone had unwound a slinky to the fullest extent and then just snapped it back into place like nothing had happened.

Sam took a step out of the devil's trap and knowing that after this there was no turning back, he kneeled down and scraped a line no wider than his finger in the paint. To be honest, Sam was half expecting a cliched evil laugh and a cloud of smoke once the trap was broken. 

None of that happened.

Crowley was standing in the circle just as he had before, his eyes not filled with hatred or evil but anxiety. Clasping his hands together, Crowley stepped out of the devil's trap and turned towards the brothers. “Well, what are we waiting for then? He asked, the panic in his voice quickly shoved under layers of other emotions far more calm, cool and collected than what he really felt like. “You said he's at a hospital, so lets go.”

“First you heal Dean's hand,” Sam said authoritatively. “Then we go.”

“No.” Dean said just as Crowley responded with a 'Yeah, sure, whatever.'

The look Sam shot his brother was an obvious attempt to guilt him but Dean was having none of it. Crossing his arms so that his right hand was firmly hidden under the left, Dean did not buckle under Sam's stare. “There's no way in hell I'm letting him,” Dean pointed his finger accusingly where Crowley stood. “Do anything to me. No way, no how-”

Before he even finished the sentence, Crowley shot forward and grabbed Dean's outstretched hand. Next to him, Sam lurched toward his brother but stopped short as if he had met an unfortunate fate with a brick wall. Dean also found he could not move.

“You bastard!” Dean bit out as he glared down at Crowley's hand which still encircled his own. Looking over at the sharpness that had taken to the yellow eyes that peered at his brother, Sam had to admit that for the first time, Crowley looked the way he had originally imagined the demon to look like. The way the black pupils seemed to swallow the light and how the gold of his irises looked like the sun which burned crops and dried rivers and killed without distinction; He truly looked like a demon.

“Listen here,” Crowley hissed looking between the two brothers. “I am not going to sit around watching you two argue while Aziraphale is in danger. So,” He wrapped both of his hands around Dean's. “The both of you are going to sit still and be quiet while I do this.” 

Crowley became silent and did not move. Sam waited. Dean waited. Even the lights overhead seemed to stop their constant swinging in anticipation.

Finally after what could have been no more than ten seconds, Crowley released Dean's hand and the invisible force fell from both of the Winchesters. “Um, yeah there you go.” Crowley said, sounding far less lethal than earlier and instead took on the tone of a child at the end of their class presentation who did not know how to stop without it being awkward. The demonic poster child that Crowley had been moments before was gone.

“That's it?” Sam asked in disbelief. “All that of that and for what? Shouldn't there have been, I don't know, some sort of light or anything besides you just holding his hand.”

Crowley gave an odd glance to Dean and Sam couldn't help but feel he was missing something. “I'm a demon not a magician.” He said, sounding a bit off. “You want a show and lights? Go ask someone else.”

Sam would have questioned further but then he saw Dean unwrap his hand and flex his fingers like they had never been broken at all.

“Well alright then, I guess.” Sam said, still feeling like he had blinked and missed something important. “Let's go save Aziraphale.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean already had a picture in his mind of what the hospital was going to look like as they were driving there. It was a bit sad to say that Dean had seen his fair share of abandoned hospitals and they all tended to run together. Vines would definitely be scaling the outside brick, cutting through jagged cracks in the wall to make their way to the rotted interior. The doors would probably be boarded up, nails and graffiti covering up their surface. They would probably need a crowbar to get in unless the demons had the curtsey to just give them a nice entrance through the front.

“It should be just around the bend in the road, behind the trees.” Sam said as he glanced down at the tracking software on his phone.

In the back of the Impala was Castiel and Crowley who for, lack of a better term, was pouting. “I still don't see why you had to put the chains back on,” He grumbled, tugging lightly at the iron band across his neck. “Not exactly the most comfortable thing, you know?”

Sam didn't look up from his phone when he replied, “We'll take them off when we get there.” In all honesty, Dean had been the one to insist that the former Serpent still be chained up because, in his own words, 'There was no way I'm driving with a demon right behind me with clear access to my neck.'

They took the curve in the road that led to the abandoned hospital and the trees that had blocked their view went away to show the building.

“Um, Dean . . .” Cas said as he looked quizzically at the hospital. “I thought you had said that the building was abandoned?”

Although that was what Dean had assumed, he was obviously wrong. The hospital was crawling with life. Cars filled up the parking lot, patients were being wheeled out of the hospital in wheelchairs and people walked in carrying balloons and teddybears which said things such as 'Get Better Soon' or 'It's a Girl!'

“Not sure why you were expecting anything different,” Crowley commented unhelpfully from the back seat. He sounded less panicked than earlier but Dean suspected that he was just getting better at hiding it. “Honestly, you hear the word old and you just automatically assume that it's abandoned. It even makes more sense for it to be occupied. I mean, you walk into an abandoned hospital that you know has demons in it and you see someone, well then you know they're a demon. However you walk into a hospital mostly populated by humans, is your first instinct going to be to shoot the nurse behind the counter or a patient getting food on the off chance that they might be a demon? No, you're going to assume everyone is human until proven otherwise. By the time you figure out whose who you're already dead.”

Dean rolled his eyes but no one noticed. “Thanks for the commentary and all, but that doesn't answer how we're going to get in there and find Aziraphale.”

As they pulled into a parking space, Crowley looked over to the hospital building. “Leave that to me.”

One change of clothes later, because Crowley was not going to go out looking like he was wearing the shirt of a lumberjack/giant, and a new pair of sunglasses as he didn't think the nurses would believe his golden eyes were a side-effect of liver damage, the four of them were walking through the hospital. 

Was Dean a bit anxious that Crowley was strolling around without anything to stop him from killing them all? Yes. However, he didn't really get a choice in the matter. Apparently if they didn't want every demon in the hospital to know they were there, Crowley needed his powers to conceal their presence. The only bright side was that concealing them all was the extent of what Crowley could do at that moment. Only when they found Aziraphale could he drop the shield and actually do some damage. Still didn't mean that Dean was happy.

Crowley was looking around the foyer of the hospital, his eyes hidden under his sunglasses. “Okay, so Castiel and Sam,” Crowley began. “You two go tell the receptionist that you're here for code inspection and ask them which floors have some sort of construction currently being done on them. That will be where Aziraphale is. The demons might've been smart enough to choose an already occupied hospital to keep Zira at, but old habits die hard and they'll flock to large daunting spaces like moths to a flame anyways.”

Cas and Sam nodded and headed toward the front desk. Only once they were out of earshot did Crowley turn to Dean. It was silent for all of seven seconds before Crowley spoke. “Your hand wasn't broken.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your hand wasn't broken,” Crowley repeated.

Dean stood up a little taller and tried to loom over Crowley even though the demon was not that much shorter than him. “I'm pretty sure I'd know if my own hand was broken or not and it was definitely broken.”

“When I went to heal your hand, I found perfectly healed bones. No fractures. No twists. There weren't even any bruises. I know that it was broken, though. I heard it break. So,” Crowley paused and despite the sunglasses, Dean could tell he narrowed his eyes. “Who healed your hand? It wasn't me and it wasn't Aziraphale. Don't tell me it was Castiel either, because in the state he's in right now I doubt he could heal a bloody twig.”

Dean glanced around as if the answer was going to float down right into his hand. It was only the return of Sam and Cas that saved him from answering. 

“The sixth floor,” Cas said as soon as he reached the pair. “That is only floor that is currently under construction and is completely devoid of any patients or staff.”

Crowley straightened his sunglasses and in the miniscule movement, Dean saw the edges of fear creep back onto Crowley's face. “Perfect.” He said, walking off towards the elevators without pause for Sam, Dean or Cas. “We should hopefully catch them by surprise since they were most likely expecting one of you to call back and make threats or bargain or whatever you usually do.”

Once all four of them were in the elevator, the machine began to whir and groan as it heaved them up through the building. There was no elevator music. Dean wished there was. All he wanted was some horrible cliché like terrible elevator music as they all stood in awkward silence or for someone to start the joke 'So two hunters, an angel and a demon are riding in an elevator . . .' However there was no music. There were no jokes. There was just heavy silence.

With a lurch and a small ding, the elevator came to a stop at the sixth floor. The doors did not open for a moment and Crowley looked like he was going to rip them apart. Finally, the metal slid open and revealed a large room. Open doorways led off into the dark and plastic tarps drifted about like the dead, but the worst thing about the room which was infinitely more dreadful than the draft and the dark and the dust was the horrible, piercing sound of screaming. It was like some sort of barrier had been broken as soon as the doors slid apart. Thinking about it, Dean wouldn't have been surprised at all if there really was some sort of invisible noise barrier. One second nothing but silence, the next nothing but the drowning wail of pain.

Crowley went still at the sound of the agonized screaming. His sunglasses had fallen down the bridge of his nose to reveal panicked eyes that were starring far off at something. He was with them, but at the same time, he really wasn't. The sound of screaming, the screech of metal on metal, the agony brought on by metal on flesh, they had brought him somewhere no one in the elevator wanted to picture.

“Crowley?” Sam asked. He did not respond. “Crowley!” Sam said again, a bit more forcefully that time. Only when Castiel reached out and placed a light hand on the demon's shoulder did he snap out of it, jerking back and hastily pushing his sunglasses up to block out the world. 

Without a word, Crowley stepped out of the elevator and did not turn back to see if the others were following. Once they were all in the main part of the room, Crowley held up three fingers. Then two. One. Suddenly Dean felt like something had slithered down his spine and he could only assume that they were no longer concealed from the demons.

It took twelve seconds for a demon to jump out from the darkness. With a long knife, the demon leapt at Crowley with the speed, grace and deadliness of a falling piano. At the same time five more demons were pouring from the shadows and racing towards them. As Dean, Sam and Cas got out their weapons, Crowley just stood in the center of the room with his blade in hand but making no indication he was going to do anything with it. He glanced around at the approaching demons, looked back at the three of them and then took a deep breath while rolling his shoulders. 

When it happened, the air made an odd popping noise as if it was being quickly pushed aside to make room for something that had not been there a second ago. Jutting out from Crowley's back were two beautiful white wings which arched out from between his shoulder blades like streams of water from a fountain. With a swift spin, Crowley used his wings to knock into the oncoming demons and send them flying into the walls.

Cas immediately went after the demons on the floor who were trying to get up. A slash and a swing upwards from the demons, a jab downwards from Castiel. Someone got hit. Dean couldn't see who.

More demons began to come out of the shadows like cockroaches. Rushing forward, Sam grabbed at a demon who was about to jump onto Dean's back and threw it to the floor. As Dean turned to stab at a demon approaching him, he caught sight of Crowley.

In twos and threes, demons were lunging and dodging Crowley's attacks. Like background music, the screaming wavered, dipped and cracked along to the flow of the movements. With a shiny silver blade, one demon rammed the metal straight through Crowley's shoulder. Dean got no time to see if Crowley recovered as more demons were attacking. One came from the left. Another two from the right. Dean glanced around. Where was Sam? He couldn't see him anymore. He wasn't in the room. Where was Cas, oh god where was Castiel? Even Crowley had stumbled into another section. 

Dean was alone.

Swinging up, the elder Winchester caught a demon just under the jaw and sent it arching through the air. Unfortunately another demon sprung up to take it's place, clawing at Dean and leaving bleeding tracks like rake marks across his face. The demons kept piling up. More and more and more clawed and stabbed and cut at Dean. No matter how much he fought, Dean was overwhelmed by them. Where the others? Were they dead? Was he going he die?

Dean barely noticed it at first, too distracted by the pain and the deep seated need to survive. However, through the haze and blood, Dean could see it- A blazing blue light. The demons either scrambled away into the adjoining rooms or were stunned just long enough for Dean to get in a blow. Looking up past his already swelling eye, Dean did not see his little brother, he saw the angel Ezekiel looming above him with his hand outstretched and eyes glowing. They might have had the same face, but Dean could tell the difference even without the glowing blue eyes. This was not his brother.

With the serious look on Zeke's face which put every painting of avenging angels to shame, it made it all the more surprising and slightly hilarious when a demon literally went flying through the air to topple into him. From the direction that the demon had come flying, Crowley stepped out of a doorway, covered in blood and breathing like he had just sprinted a marathon. Where his magnificent wings had stretched minutes ago was now just air. Dean couldn't help but wonder if he had imagined it. Demons didn't have wings after all.

Crowley took in a breath. “Sorry . . .” Another breath. “About that . . .” 

Dean watched as Sam pushed the limp demon off him. One look at his face and Dean was sure that he was looking at his little brother and not Ezekiel. There was no way an angel could pull off that trademarked scowl Sam had been using since he was eight.

“Something's wrong . . .” Sam trailed off. It became silent on the sixth floor and Dean looked around to see what his brother was talking about.

“Where's Cas?” Dean finally said, counting three bodies instead of four.

Sam shook his head. “No, not that. It's something else.”

Dean was about to reply that Cas being missing most definitely constituted as something being wrong, but a slight gasp from Crowley stopped him.

“It's silent.” Crowley said, his voice quiet and almost frail. He was not wrong. Yes, there was the steady strum of pipes and the subtle echo of breath, but where before the screams had consumed the entire space of the sixth floor, now only emptiness remained. “Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed out. “Aziraphale!” Racing off into the darkness, Crowley screamed out the name all the while ignoring his bleeding shoulder that left a trail like bread crumbs wherever he went.

“Crowley!” Sam hissed, running after him. “You need to be quiet!”

As he barreled into the next room, Crowley shouted behind his shoulder, “I'm not loosing him!”

The Winchesters rushed after the demon, passing empty spaces and watching as Crowley became even more frantic with each second without Aziraphale. Empty rooms, empty halls, no sign of demons, no sign of Cas, no sign of Zira. They just kept running though, guns out and ready to shoot.

Ahead of them in the next room, Crowley stopped. Only when Sam and Dean had caught up did they see. In the corner of the room, unconscious, strapped down on a medical bed and surrounded by a ring of holy fire, was Aziraphale. His hair was matted with blood and stuck to his forehead, streaks of red tore their way down his face. Looming next to Zira like a shadow of death inside the circle was a demon, black eyes starring defiantly at the three of them as it held an angel blade mere inches above Aziraphale's heart.

“Take another step and he dies,” The demon threatened as the blade was moved closer to Zira's skin. Besides the erratic rise and fall of their chests, no one dared move. The vessel the demon was wearing, an old man whose greying beard was flecked with red which oozed and congealed in the matted hair, took on a grin which showed far too many teeth which were also splattered with blood. “Here's what's going to happen,” The demon began. “I'm going to leave. The angel will be coming with me.” At this remark, Crowley sucked in a sharp breath. “If any of you try to stop me, the angel will die.” As if to show his resolve, the demon took the blade and drew a shallow line in the skin on Aziraphale's collarbone. Still unconscious, Zira let out a small whimper and Crowley looked ready to rip out the demon's throat. Ignoring the rage in Crowley's eyes, he continued on. “Now, you can still get your angel back, but only if you do as we said and bring us the King. Until then . . .” Another line, this time deeper, was cut into Aziraphale's flesh. “We'll have some fun with him.”

In what Dean assumed was an attempt to stop himself from strangling the demon, Crowley placed both his hands behind his back. Dean tried to think of something to do besides just standing there. Shooting the demon wasn't a option. There was no way holy water would even be able to reach from across the room, either. Dean thought that maybe Zeke would help, but then again, he would of probably done something already if he were going to. So they were left with . . . Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Dean honestly could not think of someway to get out without someone dying.

“You know, Crowley,” The demon began, the knife still dangling over Zira's body. “You could have been at the top. You were the creator of original sin! I mean, the whole apple thing was so great Lucifer himself took credit for it.” Tightening his grip on the blade, the demon pointed the tip right at Crowley. Hands still behind his back, Crowley began to make frantic gestures with his fingers. At first Dean thought it might have been some sort of signal, but the way his fingers curled back and how his wrists were bent in such an inhuman way was a clear indication that whatever Crowley was doing was not a signal. “Then you had to go and blow it all,” The demon continued on, unaware of what Crowley was doing. “And for what? For earth? For humans? For an angel? How absolutely pathetic. Honestly-”

With a fast movement down, Crowley completed his hand gesture. One second passed, then two, and then the angel blade the demon still had pointed at Crowley turned a hot glowing red. Yelping, the demon flung the burning blade away from himself onto the floor. That was all Crowley needed. Reaching out towards the blade, palm open, the weapon flew into Crowley's hand. No sooner had it landed in his palm did Crowley bring his arm back and launch the blade straight at the demon. It arched through the air, spinning gracefully and beautifully in a way blades should not. Then with a sickening squelch, the knife embedded itself deep into the stomach of the demon. The room lit up. A light like the fires of hell pulsated within the demon, illuminating the bones through the skin. Falling as he grasped at his stomach, the demon toppled over into the holy fire.

Crowley did not even wait for the demon to fully die before he rushed over to Aziraphale's side, using the discarded body as a bridge over the holy fire “Angel!” He called, undoing the leather straps on one of Aziraphale's arms. There was no delay in the leather strap being removed and Aziraphale opening his eyes to reveal an unearthly glowing blue. No one, not Crowley or Sam or Dean, had any time to react before Aziraphale's hand shot up and latched onto Crowley's throat. “Angel?” Crowley chocked out. 

Rushing into the circle, Sam and Dean grabbed onto Zira's hand and attempted to pry it off the demon's neck. “Don't hurt him!” Crowley yelled, but it came out as more of a wheeze.

“Hurt him?” Sam said as he tugged on Zira's arm. “We can barely move him!”

“I don't . . . Think he even knows . . . Where he is . . .” Crowley got out as his throat was crushed. Looking down at the burning blue eyes, he noticed the beginnings of tears well around the edges.

With a gasp like someone attempting to get in one last breath before going under, Aziraphale tried bolting up despite the restraints. “Stop! Let me go! Just stop!” He screamed out, his hand jerking back from Crowley's neck to tug at the other restraints. “I didn't do anything wrong! Stop, please! I just want to go home! I'll never come back! I'll never set foot in Heaven again! I promise!”

The look in Crowley's eyes was the most defeated and at the same time, most enraged Dean had ever seen. “He thinks he's in Heaven . . .” Crowley whispered. Sighing, he reached down and began to undo all the leather restraints that bound Aziraphale. 

“Are you sure that's a good idea, right now?” Dean asked.

Crowley did not look up from Aziraphale who was still clawing at the bindings. “Yes.” Was all he said. No one asked anything further and one by one the engraved restraints were removed. With the last binding taken off, Zira was still panicking. His eyes were still an unnatural blue. He was still lost. Despite, the way Aziraphale was flailing about, Crowley leaned down and began running a gentle hand through the angel's hair all the while whispering something in his ear.

Dean felt like he was intruding on something personal, something special. Turning around, he began to put out the holy fire in order to give the two some semblance of privacy. Looking to his right, Dean saw that Sam was doing the same. Still putting out the fire, Dean picked up some fragments of what Crowley was saying to Aziraphale. Some of it was in a different language, but most of it was just a steady mantra of “Your safe, your safe, your safe. You're not there any more. You're not in heaven. I'm here.”

In the distance, barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the fire being put out and Crowley's soothing words, footsteps could be heard approaching. Without a moments hesitation, both Sam and Dean drew their weapons and creeped over to empty doorway.

The moment that both Winchesters were ready to shot whatever walked in the door was the same moment Castiel strolled in.

“Cas!” Dean yelled, holstering his gun at the sight of then angel. “Where have you been, man?”

Seeming completely unperturbed by the guns which had been pointed at him, Castiel just wiped his bloodied hands onto his coat. “I was checking the floor to ensure that there were no more demons waiting for us,” He explained calmly. “It appears that all the demons have either fled or have died. I do not belief they will be a problem.”

Dean huffed. “Well, you could of told us what you were doing instead of just running off . . .” There was a silent 'I was worried about you' tacked onto the end of the sentence that Dean didn't dare say aloud.

Coming up behind the the three of them, Crowley was holding a sleeping Aziraphale close to his chest. No longer did Zira toss or scream, he just looked peaceful. “Come on,” Crowley said, running his fingers through the angel's hair. “Let's get out of here.”

Although they were bloody, bruised and battered as they left the hospital, not a single person tried to stop them from leaving. Then when they got into the Impala, Aziraphale's head resting on Crowley's lap, not a word was spoken besides the quiet steady stream of murmuring which could have been, “I love you” repeated over and over again until the words ran together into jumbled nonsense, but no one could really be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 done! Wooh! Chapter eight is going to be filled with fluff and cuddling so hopefully my desire to write hurt/comfort will make me jump right in and start with the next chapter. Also if your wondering why Cas isn't doing much of anything, do not fear. Not the next chapter, but for the next two or three chapters after that I'm planning for him to be the main focus. I hope you all liked reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it and with a bit of luck I'll be back soon! :)


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